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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863441">Resilience and Other Heroes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesemovingparts/pseuds/thesemovingparts'>thesemovingparts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Michelle Jones, Canon-Typical Violence, Comic Book Science, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Genius children all around, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I will pepper in the fact that peter and mj are both bi, Idiots in Love, MJ POV, Mid-Blip, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Slow Burn, The kids survive the snap and save each other as well as the world that's the story, Underage Drinking, alternatively titled: how michelle jones saved the world (and also fell in love), and they get one goddammit, avengers cameos - Freeform, like found family as Hell, non-graphic vomit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 21:00:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesemovingparts/pseuds/thesemovingparts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Whatever, half the applicants are dead and half of the rest of us gave up because life’s not worth it anymore, so I’ll probably get in anyway. But it’s the principle of the thing.”</p><p>“Dark, MJ,” Peter deadpanned. “Just. Morbid as hell.”</p><p>“Man, our entire lives are morbid,” she laughed. “You’re an orphan superhero with space-related trauma, Ned’s family worked their entire lives to be able to move to this country only for the world to end, and I’m living in Ned’s dead grandmother’s bedroom because my whole family ceased to exist. Morbid.” </p><p>*</p><p>Somehow, against all odds, the Friends of Spider-Man all survived the Snap. This is how they lived in the aftermath. This is how they tried to save the world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michelle Jones &amp; Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones &amp; Ned Leeds &amp; Peter Parker, Michelle Jones &amp; Tony Stark, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>250</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "I just thought they were books."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello I am here to wax poetic about Michelle Jones.</p><p>I wrote this as a singular Thing, but it got a little unruly word count wise so if the chapter break feels like it’s in a weird spot… it’s because it was a logistical choice rather than a creative one lmao</p><p>Part two will be up in the next day or two once I'm able to give it a cursory proofread. </p><p>Thank you dearly for reading, I hope you enjoy &lt;3</p><p>Love,<br/>Becca</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em> “We didn’t think so much about the end result, we barely considered that one day it would actually work, because we had lives to keep living just like everyone else. There was still rent to pay, still classes to attend, still people to love. But we were young and existing under the ridiculous notion that if we asked the universe nicely enough, she would give us our people back. And so, ask we did.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Excerpt, “2,271 Days” by Michelle Jones </em>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When Michelle Jones was sixteen years old, she watched her father turn to dust right before her eyes. </p><p>One second they were walking up the stairs of their apartment building, and the next a grocery bag was falling and a split carton was pouring milk all over Michelle’s boots. If she hadn’t been so terrified to her very core, she might have noticed the sounds of distress echoing through the stairwell from the other tenants, or the sirens in the streets, or the inescapable blanket of chaos that had just befallen them all. </p><p>But Michelle was sixteen years old, and she was afraid, and her dad had just <em> turned to dust </em> right before her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Michelle sobbed into the ringing of her phone, pacing back and forth across her fire escape and looking down at a world ravaged. </p><p>About a block away, she could see what appeared to be at least a four-car pileup. She wondered how many of the drivers had disappeared and how many had died the old-fashioned way. </p><p>Her call went to voicemail. She dialed again. </p><p>“Fuck, please pick up.” </p><p>She had the news playing loudly on the TV inside the apartment, but after three hours it seemed that the reporters still had about as much information as everyone else. </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Hello?!” Michelle stopped in her tracks. “Oh my God--”</p><p>“Michelle? Is that you?”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” she frantically wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Who is this? Is Gayle there? Why do you have her phone?”</p><p>“This is Marley-- Gayle’s roommate?”</p><p>“Right, okay,” Michelle tried to keep the impending dread pushed to the side, but it was encroaching fast and it was encroaching hard. “Is-- Is my sister there? Is she…?”</p><p>A hitched breath. Michelle’s heart sank and she choked on a sob. </p><p>“I’m so sorry-- It just--” Marley was crying too. “I just got home and there’s-- this pile of dust--”</p><p>Michelle hung up and sank to the ground, hip digging into grated metal and shoulder leaned against the railing. She couldn’t feel anything except the raw, human wail that pushed itself out of her lungs. </p><p>No one could hear her over the symphony of the apocalypse. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The power was out in her apartment. </p><p><em> “An excuse for you to get off that computer and hang out with me!” </em> her dad would have said. </p><p>He didn’t. He was a pile of dust in the stairwell. </p><p>It had been thirty-six hours and phone lines were down, emergency services were overloaded, and Michelle had been too afraid to take so much as a step outside. She was going to have to though, because there was only so much food in the apartment and the water had been shut off twelve hours prior and she was a minor with no surviving family. </p><p>Alone with her thoughts, Michelle was overwhelmed with how little information she had. How was she supposed to make a plan, how was she supposed to properly prepare, when she didn’t have a fucking <em> clue </em> what was going on or who was still alive or how she was supposed to be a daughter or a sister when there was no one left to call her as such. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Atticus Jones took the role of being a father to two black daughters very seriously. </p><p>From the moment they entered the world, Michelle and Gayle had had access to stories about little girls who looked like them, women whom they would one day look like, black girls who loved and fought and laughed. Whether those stories came from the library or from Atticus’s own head was a matter entirely its own, but they had them nevertheless. </p><p>He had once told Michelle the story of a girl named Resilience who saved the world with the magic stored in her fingertips. No one ever knew that she had saved them, no one had even known they were in danger before Resilience stepped in and stopped the bad guys in their tracks, but she hadn’t cared. </p><p>Resilience required no recognition, only the strength to exist. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Grocery stores, convenience stores, and things of the like were pretty well empty within a couple of weeks. People became hoarders when things got scary-- Michelle knew this based on what she had read about Y2K. </p><p>She was living alone still, and she was going to keep living in her family’s apartment until the chaos faded enough for someone to notice that that was maybe not an acceptable situation. But, for the moment, there was too much going on for anyone to give a shit about the teenager living on her own. There were toddlers left without parents, after all. </p><p>Within a month, Michelle had created something of a system. She could get rations from a food bank that had popped up in the aftermath to help those who had lost access to an income along with everything else. All she had to do was wait in line, keep her head down, quietly pick up her share, and carry it back to the apartment. </p><p>“Holy shit, Michelle?!”</p><p>Her head shot up where she leaned against the brick exterior of the shelter, eyes big and heart skipping over itself. </p><p>“Oh my God,” she said, under her breath, pushing herself off the wall. And then, louder, “Oh my God, <em> Ned?” </em></p><p>“MJ!” he ran across the street, his mother calling out after him, a car honking at him, and Michelle herself, stumbling out of line and colliding with Ned in a hug. “Holy shit, you’re here, you’re here--”</p><p>“Ned, I thought-- I didn’t know if--”</p><p>“I know, I know,” Ned pulled away to look at her without letting go of her shoulders. “It’s so good to see you, like, <em> so </em> good.” </p><p>“You too,” she responded, a tremble to her jaw at the sight of him-- right there in front of her, his hands heavy and solid and holding her on Earth. He was the first person she’d really <em> spoken </em> to since it had all happened and she found herself choking on the sensation.</p><p>“Have you been able to get ahold of anyone else?” Ned asked hopefully. “Peter?”</p><p>Michelle shook her head. “Just you.” </p><p>“I went to their apartment a few days ago,” Ned shook his head slowly. “I-- May wasn’t there either so maybe they’re staying somewhere else?” </p><p>“I’ve been checking the lists of the dead and I haven’t seen their names,” she offered. There was hope in that statement, but Michelle wasn’t sure that she wanted to feel it. She wasn’t sure her heart could take a fall from such lofty heights. </p><p>“Ned! You can’t just-- run away like that, I swear,” Alana Leeds appeared beside them, flushed and nervous. And then, softer, “Michelle. Hi, sweetheart.”</p><p>“Hi, Missus Leeds,” her voice cracked as the water that had been pushing at her tear ducts finally made an appearance. </p><p>“Oh, come here,” Alana said, equally waterlogged as she pulled Michelle close to her chest. “Your dad? Did he…?”</p><p>Michelle choked on a sob. “Gone,” she said into Alana’s shoulder. </p><p>“And Gayle?”</p><p>“Her too.”</p><p>“Okay,” Alana pulled back with a sniff. “You’re coming home with us. Ned, go with her to pick up some of her things and then come straight back, okay?” </p><p>Before Michelle could even protest, Ned was holding her hand and dragging her down the street. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Ned’s dad had been dusted too, and so had his grandmother who had been living with them. </p><p>Their apartment was just as filled to the brim with mourning as Michelle’s, but Alana hummed to herself while she cooked them dinner. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>At some point, spending the night at Ned’s apartment turned into spending the week, which in turn became living there indefinitely because Alana Leeds wasn’t fucking around with keeping the people she had left safe. </p><p>“I can’t ask you to do that,” Michelle said, after twelve days of warmth and understanding and collective grief. </p><p>“Michelle,” Alana put a hand on each of her shoulders and she held herself tall despite being a few inches shorter than the teenager. “There is not a doubt in my mind that if the situation were reversed and Ned was left alone, that your dad would take care of him. This is what we do when a community ruptures-- we build a new community from the ashes.” </p><p>And so Michelle stayed. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“If Peter had made it, he would have found us by now, right?” Ned asked one night, shrouded in the darkness of his bedroom and the quiet of a disintegrating city. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Michelle responded from her air mattress on the floor. </p><p>“I mean, there’s a chance he’s okay,” Ned sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. “He’s an Avenger, maybe he’s just helping out in the rebuild and hasn’t been able to contact us.” </p><p>“Maybe.” </p><p>She was terrified of her own hope. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Alana went back to work and Ned and Michelle started volunteering their time around the city wherever they could offer their help. They stuck together throughout the day, both due to Alana’s insistence and their own newfound uncertainty in the city they knew by heart. </p><p>“I had an idea last night,” Michelle said as she passed a lunch box down the line to Ned so he could add an apple from his crate. </p><p>“That sounds ominous,” Ned said, continuing the assembly line. “I dunno how I feel about <em> ominous </em> these days.”</p><p>“I know, just hear me out,” she insisted. “I think we might be able to figure out what happened to Peter.” </p><p>Ned’s head shot up. “How?” </p><p>“Peter said that the new Avengers facility is upstate, right?” </p><p>“Yeah, it’s like, a few hours away,” Ned nodded, curiosity in his eyes. </p><p>“We should go there,” Michelle leaned in close to him. “We should ask them.” </p><p>Ned floundered, somewhere between impressed and baffled. </p><p>“You want us to go to the Avengers Compound and just-- chat up Captain America?” he gaped. </p><p>“Well, chat up makes it sound like we’re hitting on him,” Michelle grimaced. “But. Yeah.” </p><p>“It’s not in the city,” Ned pushed back. “How are we supposed to get there?” </p><p>“No one is using my dad’s work van.”</p><p>Visibly, bravely, Ned steeled himself. “You think they can help us find him? You think they <em> will?” </em></p><p>The truth was, MJ didn’t know, she couldn’t ever be certain of anything anymore, had no way to promise Ned that this plan would yield any better results than they already had.</p><p>Which is what she meant when she said: “They’re our best shot.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Atticus Jones was a house painter for well over twenty years. He took a lot of pride in it and so did his daughters. </p><p>Michelle remembered being a child and her dad coming home, stained cover-alls and work boots, grin on his face, and leftover paint cans in hand. There was a bare wall in Michelle’s bedroom, right next to her desk, where she would sit down with those left-behind colors and become a muralist right there with her tiny brushes and massive tarp-- just in case. </p><p>She would drag her family into the room as soon as she was finished with her newest art project, and when she was ready to make a new masterpiece, Atticus would help her roll over it with a fresh coat of paint, erasing it. </p><p>It taught her not to be precious about her art, to just sit down and paint or draw or create and let it live in whatever space or time it was meant to. It taught her that art wasn’t unreachable, that it wasn’t something for faceless names on plaques in museums, but instead for everyone. </p><p>Art was everyday and Michelle Jones knew this to be true because she created it every day on the wall of her bedroom. </p><p>Atticus was equally prideful of his painting van. It was well-maintained and as old as Michelle and not even Gayle had had the honor of ever driving it. </p><p>“Are you sure this is okay?” Ned asked, clutching at his seatbelt as Michelle checked the mirrors. </p><p>“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” </p><p>Technically speaking, neither Ned nor Michelle had their driver’s licenses. </p><p>Also, in a truly technical sense, they had both been behind the wheel of a car a collective total of eight times, six of which belonged to Ned. </p><p>The engine revved and they both jumped. </p><p>“MJ…”</p><p>“There are fewer people on the road, I got this,” she said with more confidence than she felt. </p><p>“Yeah, because everything is <em> under construction,” </em> Ned said in what was almost a whine. “Because the <em> world ended.” </em></p><p>“Gas is on the left, yeah?” she deadpanned.</p><p>Ned shot her a look. </p><p>“I’m kidding,” she rolled her eyes. “I know how to drive.”</p><p>That was debatable, but they made it out of the city without either of them bursting into tears and once most of the remnants of abandoned cars and emergency vehicles were in their rearview mirror it was mostly smooth sailing. </p><p>They switched off about halfway because Ned was a terrible backseat driver and, quite frankly, Michelle was realizing she didn’t <em> like </em> driving all that much. </p><p>And then they saw it in the distance-- <em> the Avengers Compound-- </em> and Ned slammed on the breaks in the middle of the road, jerking both of them forward against their seatbelts. </p><p>“Leeds!” Michelle exclaimed. “What the fuck, dude?”</p><p>“It’s-- <em> Look.” </em></p><p>“Yeah, it’s our destination,” she rubbed at her sternum. “Do you wanna park here and walk?”</p><p>Ned scrunched up his face. “Right. Okay, we’re going to confront the Avengers. This is fine, we’re fine, I’m so fine with this--”</p><p>“Are you fine?”</p><p>“Totally.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>There was a gate.</p><p>Of course there was, Michelle figured, too tall to really climb but she assumed she could find a way around that if she needed to. They hopped out of the van and looked around. </p><p>“Cameras,” Ned pointed to the very obvious security camera at the top of the fence. </p><p>“You think they’re watching?” Michelle asked. </p><p>“End of the world? Lots of people mad at them?” Ned shrugged. “They’ve probably got someone monitoring the feed.” </p><p>They shared a look, a silent draw of straws that Michelle very easily won. Ned sighed and turned to the camera. </p><p>“Hello?” he waved. “Hi, um, if anyone is watching we’d really appreciate the chance to-- uh, you know, talk to you. Please?”</p><p>“Seriously?” Michelle said flatly. </p><p>“I don’t know!” Ned tossed his hands up in the air.</p><p>MJ stepped forward and looked into the camera. </p><p>“Hi. We’re friends of Spider-Man and we’re not leaving until we get some answers so, like, might as well let us in.” </p><p>Ned made a face at her, but she just shrugged and continued. </p><p>“Look. We know the location of your big fancy facility,” she held her arms out wide. “Who knows how much other top secret information we’ve got?” </p><p>“Threatening them isn’t going to work--”</p><p>The lock on the gate clicked loudly and the motorized mechanism began to slide it open. </p><p>Michelle smirked. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>They had barely stepped out of the van when the front doors swung open with haste to reveal a familiar, frantic woman. </p><p>
  <em> May Parker. </em>
</p><p>“I’m so glad you two are okay,” she exhaled in a heavy breath the minute she got her arms around the both of them in a tangled, awkward, heavenly group hug. “I can’t believe you’re here, but I’m so, so glad.” </p><p>It wasn’t what they expected when they lied to Alana about how they would be spending their day and taught themselves how to drive a van, all this love from one of the very people they were trying to find, but they were grateful for it. </p><p>“Peter,” Ned said. “We’re trying-- Is he…?”</p><p>May’s face fell. </p><p>“Let’s go inside,” she said. “We have a lot to talk about.” </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Peter, as it turned out, was in space. </p><p>Or at least that was his last known location when everything went south. </p><p>May explained everything she knew as best as she could and when she got flustered and stumbled over her words that was fine because, oh, right, Captain fucking America was also there to fill in the gaps. </p><p>Peter went to space with Iron Man and a Wizard and they hadn’t been able to contact them since, but a woman named Captain Danvers was out searching for them and they hadn’t given up yet. </p><p>They hadn’t given up yet, Captain America and May Parker told her, and so Michelle let Ned clutch her hand and tried, tried, tried not to give up. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>They drove home in near silence, realizing they might not ever get any answers, and even if they did, they might not be the answers they wanted. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Resilience had always had a way of getting her hands on the information she needed. </p><p>“How does she do it?” Michelle had asked, ten years old and never quite having grown out of her questions phase. Maybe Atticus encouraged her a little too much with that sort of thing. </p><p>“She’s patient,” Atticus said wisely. “She knows that some things take time.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It took seventeen days. </p><p>“I want the library to reopen,” Michelle said, sprawled out next to Ned on the steps up to the apartment. </p><p>“Lots of overdue books,” Ned replied, equally lethargic. </p><p>Alana had kicked them out, told them to get some sun, but they hadn’t made it all that far and they didn’t have any interest in exploring whatever new catastrophes were taking shape today. </p><p>“God, it’s gonna take them so long to restock,” Michelle said, genuinely a little heartbroken at the prospect. She could be heartbroken about this, it was easier than being heartbroken about the other things. </p><p>“And it’s for sure gonna be, like, last priority to the Mayor’s office,” Ned agreed. </p><p>“Haven’t they ever seen an apocalypse movie?” Michelle groused. “How are we supposed to go around quoting classic literature in plot-relevant and profound ways if the library stays closed?” </p><p>“You’re so right,” Ned responded, fully sincere, just as a black car with dark windows pulled up in front of them on the street. </p><p>It wouldn’t have even registered with the two of them if the door hadn’t opened before the car was even parked, sending a bundle of teenage energy stumbling onto the sidewalk. </p><p>Michelle froze. Ned threw himself off the steps. </p><p>“<em> Peter?!” </em> </p><p>“Thank God you guys are here,” Peter gasped from Ned’s tight embrace. “May said you were living together, but I wasn’t sure if you were still at this apartment or had moved--”</p><p>“Peter, you were in <em> space, </em> what the fuck, what the--”</p><p>“Yeah, that was-- not the greatest,” Peter said, pulling away and looking between the two of them. “But I’m back, I’m-- totally back--”</p><p>“<em> Peter.” </em></p><p>“And I wanted to come find you the minute we landed,” he continued frantically. “But we had to go to medical and they made Mister Stark and me stay quarantined for a while because of the whole <em> unknown planet </em> thing and I just-- God, I got here as soon as I could--”</p><p>And Michelle was still sitting, staring, listening to this boy try to apologize for coming home to them until the world finally started moving again and she was able to breathe in, and stand up, and say, “Shut up, Parker,” all in one breath before she was holding him. </p><p>Peter flailed a little bit, caught off guard and words getting strangled in his throat, and then he was hugging her back and her hair was down so it was definitely all in his eyes and nose and mouth and maybe she should have been more embarrassed about all the vulnerability she’d been showing lately but she kind of wasn’t. </p><p>She was kind of just glad that this wasn’t another person she had to mourn.</p><p>“Oh,” Peter squeaked softly. “Since when are you a hugger?”</p><p>Michelle pulled back and smacked his arm. He grinned at her and she hated him and she was so, so glad he hadn’t gone and fucking died in space. </p><p>“I missed you too,” he said. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Peter told them about the fight, about how they lost, about <em> who </em> had been lost and how he didn’t even know all of their names. He told them he was sorry and they told him it wasn’t his fault even though they knew he wouldn’t believe them. </p><p>That night, the three of them fell asleep in Ned’s bed, curled up around and on top of each other in a messy, clingy pile of something like relief. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Michelle had to officially move everything out of the Jones apartment. </p><p>Things like rent had kind of fallen to the wayside for a while, seeing as landlords didn’t know who was skipping out on them and who was literally dead, but Michelle’s landlord was starting to clear out empty apartments and if she wanted any of her family’s things she had to go and get them. </p><p>There was a tenderness in her gut as she sorted through those belongings-- what she wanted with her, what she wanted to put in storage, and what she was willing to donate, to give away. It was the sort of feeling that burned slow on a low flame and Michelle knew the only reason it didn’t bubble over in the moment was because she had so many people helping. </p><p>And she hadn’t even had to ask. </p><p>Peter and Ned packed boxes of her books and art supplies, May and Alana organized the dishes based on what looked special versus the stacks of pots and pans they would probably be giving to a local shelter. </p><p>Also, Tony Stark was there. </p><p>“Happy, grab that box, I’ve got the door for you,” Tony said to a man named Happy whom Michelle sort of liked just based on the utter irony of his name. </p><p>“You know you could help <em> carry </em> some of this stuff,” Happy grumbled as he stepped past Tony with a big box in hand. </p><p>“Yeah, but then what would <em> you </em> do?” Tony called after him. </p><p>As much as she hated to admit it, Michelle was grateful for their presence. It was hard to have a meltdown over a stack of plastic mermaid plates from your childhood when Iron Man was lounging on the couch with a roll of bubble wrap. </p><p>“Why did he come?” she asked Peter as she unceremoniously dumped her entire sock drawer into a suitcase. “He doesn’t even know me.”</p><p>“Well, he knows I like you,” Peter shrugged. “But honestly? I think he just really wanted to feel useful after everything. You know?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Michelle sighed. “I wouldn’t be opposed to him fixing the rest of it too, though.” </p><p>Peter hummed. That was something they could all agree on.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>About six months after everything turned to dust, schools started reopening across the state. </p><p>It was a slow transition and the structure of it wasn’t what it once was, but it was a welcome relief nonetheless. They only went into school four days a week and teachers were a lot more lenient about late work, about missed days, about tardiness and extensions and zoning out in the middle of a lecture. Because they understood. Because they felt lost too. </p><p>As much as Michelle had lost, she still felt infinitely lucky that she got to walk into school every day with Ned by her side, that they could meet Peter at his locker and tuck themselves away in the corner of the cafeteria at lunch. </p><p>People were quieter these days, people goofed off less in class, and Midtown felt almost entirely like a different school. But Michelle had two friends where some kids had none and they made it all a little more bearable. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Michelle had her good days and her bad days, just like everyone else. </p><p>On the good days she was able to find gratitude for the support that she’d found at the end of everything, the people who held her up and gave her a home when hers was no longer an option. She wasn’t alone despite all that she had lost, and that helped her push forward and go to school and see a future where everything was less… scary. </p><p>She didn’t care about any of that on the bad days. </p><p>The utter universality of this trauma was unlike anything that anyone anywhere had ever survived and it was unbearable. It was overwhelming and endless and, even more than that, she missed her family. </p><p>Michelle woke up on the bad days aching for a hug from her dad, a teasing text from her sister, the smell of family dinner wafting through the apartment on a Sunday night. She ached, she felt tender in unspeakable ways, and Peter could somehow always see it. </p><p>Somehow, he just knew. </p><p>“Gimme an onion ring,” he said on one bad day, reaching across her lap to steal one without waiting for a response. </p><p>They were sitting on the edge of a rooftop, feet dangling, dipping into the orange light of the sunset that turned to pink and then indigo as it stretched up their bodies. </p><p>When Michelle didn’t immediately demand a french fry as payment for her stolen food, Peter pulled one out of his bag of takeout, opened her hand, and placed it gently in her palm. She looked down at it, because she couldn’t bear to look at him, breathed deeply, and then took a bite. </p><p>It was the first time in two days anyone had been able to get her to leave the apartment, avoiding meals and school in favor of curling up in a nest of blankets in bed and pretending not to exist, wishing for it. </p><p>“I ran into Delmar yesterday,” Peter said. Michelle looked up at him with that specific type of <em> stunned </em> that belonged to the <em> after. </em> The kind of stunned that was exclusive to finding out someone you assumed had died had actually made it after all. </p><p>“That’s good,” she forced herself to say, not having spoken enough in the past twenty-four hours for the words to taste any less than rancid on her tongue.</p><p>“He’s gonna try to reopen,” Peter shrugged. “We’ll be able to go for sandwiches when he does.” </p><p>Michelle nodded. </p><p>“And you were talking about wanting a part-time job,” he continued hopefully, that inextinguishable light in his eyes. “Maybe you could-- I mean Delmar is great and it's close to home.”</p><p>Michelle felt something warm in her chest, something a little like compassion, a lot more like gratitude. What she did to deserve Peter Parker was beyond her. </p><p>She reached out and took his hand, fingers thread between his in a show of thanks because she really couldn’t speak today but she needed him to know she was there and she was hearing him, truly, for all he was. Peter squeezed back, leaned a little more intently into her shoulder as if trying to physically prop the both of them up. </p><p>It was a closeness that she had been starved for a year ago, and it was a boy she had crushed on since long before then, but in the moment her heart was stuttering not with romance but with knowledge. They were too young to know so much. </p><p>Michelle leaned her head on Peter’s shoulder and reached over to take another one of his fries. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>In Atticus’s story, Resilience knew that nobody was paying attention to her. She knew that she was invisible and she knew that this was the greatest weapon available to her. </p><p>It was the way they underestimated her that let her go under the radar. </p><p>It was the way they didn’t think she was a threat that let her win. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Hey losers.” </p><p>Michelle dropped a stack of books on the table, startling both Ned and Peter out of their mutual homework-slash-exhaustion induced zone outs. </p><p>Peter lifted an eyebrow at her. “Doing some light reading?” </p><p>“Yeah,” she said, sitting down across from them. “And you’re both gonna help.”</p><p>Her heel tapped insistently against the kitchen tile as she began sorting through her stack of books and handing them off to the boys. </p><p>“This is… a college level theoretical physics textbook,” Ned said hesitantly. </p><p>“<em> Is Time Travel Possible and Other Impossible Questions,” </em> Peter read the title of one. “Was there an assignment I forgot to copy down? What is this?” </p><p>“The Infinity Stones were destroyed,” Michelle leaned on her forearms and looked them right in their faces so they knew she was serious. “And they were the only way to reverse the Decimation, right?”</p><p>“...Yes?” Peter furrowed his brow at her.</p><p>“So,” she continued slowly. “The only way to fix everything would be to go back in time <em> before </em> the Stones were destroyed, bring them here, and use them to bring everyone back.” </p><p>They gaped at her. </p><p>It wasn’t the out-there idea that surprised them exactly. No, they had seen Michelle commit too many over-complicated conspiracy theories to memory over the years to be caught off guard by that. It was the fact that she was bright- eyed about this idea. She was passionate. </p><p>Even if she didn’t want to admit it, there was a part of her that thought this might be possible. </p><p>“MJ, we’re in high school,” Ned said. </p><p>“So?” she challenged. “Peter had a higher IQ in middle school than most fully grown adults, not to mention the fact that we have access to Tony Stark’s personal lab and <em> two </em> fully functioning Artificial Intelligences.” </p><p>“Time travel-- I mean, it’s-- it’s not even <em> theoretically </em> possible,” Peter implored. </p><p>“These guys think it might be,” Michelle motioned pointedly to her books. “And you <em> know </em> there have been people trying to figure it out for ages, we just have to look in the right places. Put the pieces together.” </p><p>Peter and Ned shared a look, and before they even turned back to face her, Michelle knew that she had their curiosity. </p><p>“Do you really think this is possible?” Peter asked. </p><p>A piece of Michelle’s confident exterior chipped off and landed on the table between them. She breathed sharply, brushed it off, and shrugged. </p><p>“I think we have to try.”</p><p>And that’s how it started, three lost kids with two parental figures left between them, trying to save the world. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It became something like a coping mechanism parading as a hobby. </p><p>They had a text chain specifically for sharing research that was separate from their usual chat, and they would sometimes have conversations in both at the same time. Half of their brains contemplating whether or not Michelle should dye her hair red and the other half considering the implications the existence of the quantum realm had on the possibility for time travel. </p><p>They theorized during the in-between moments of their lives-- washing the dishes and doing laundry and going grocery shopping where Michelle would sit in the cart, reading from one of Hank Pym’s papers while Peter pushed and Ned kept track of their list and budget.</p><p>Regular high school junior stuff all around. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Michelle took that job at Delmar’s when he reopened the shop later that Spring. </p><p>She learned how to make sandwiches and work the cash register and restock the shelves. She memorized the family order and brought home bags of sandwiches and chips every Friday night when the Parkers joined them for dinner. </p><p>She did homework behind the counter and listened to the radio during the slow hours she spent alone and sometimes fed Spider-Man when he stopped by near the beginning or end of his patrol. </p><p>Michelle’s life gained back a routine, a good one at that, and still she couldn’t stop fixating on everything that was missing. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>May and Alana threw their kids a surprise party when they successfully finished the school year. There were little party hats made out of construction paper and discount birthday directions they’d bought from a Party City going out of business sale and all of their favorite take-out dishes. </p><p>Michelle was pretty sure all of them ended up crying at one point or another that night. Bubbling up with all the emotion accompanying survival and loss and the way they had no option but to keep living through it all. </p><p>For her part, Michelle didn’t shed a tear until they were all gathered around the television set and she had Ned asleep on her shoulder and Peter asleep in her lap. This was a heavy love and she wasn’t always sure how to carry it. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“You can survive anything for a year,” Gayle had told her, years ago when she was nineteen and Michelle was thirteen. </p><p>Gayle had just finished her first year of college and was home for summer break and Michelle had endless questions. </p><p>“Even living in a tiny dorm with <em> Rachel?” </em> Michelle grimaced. Gayle laughed. </p><p>“Yeah, even that, kiddo.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>That summer, right before they started their senior year, the three of them got a little caught up with a wannabe super villain. </p><p>It took all of their resources and all of their available energy to figure out Mysterio’s weak spots so that Peter could take him down, and by the time they’d gotten him off the streets they were well and truly exhausted, if not carrying a little extra trauma. </p><p>So, at the fault of no one in particular, the whole time travel thing fell to the wayside for a few months. Then school started and their brains were fried and so even as they tried to get back on track it was hard, but if those three kids were anything they were persistent. </p><p>“I mean, the formula we’re using is wrong, so everything that comes from it is gonna be nonsense,” Ned said with a hint of frustration. </p><p>“This is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done,” Michelle deadpanned. “I mean, I’m gonna keep doing it, but still.”</p><p>And then the third in their trio came barreling into the library. </p><p>“Oh my <em> God </em>, you guys aren’t gonna believe this--”</p><p>“Shh!”</p><p>“Sorry!” Peter hissed sheepishly to the librarian who really should be used to their antics by now. “I’m gonna get banned from this place, I swear,” he whispered as he sat down at the small table Ned and Michelle had already laid claim to. </p><p>“You’d deserve it,” Michelle said. “You have no volume control.” </p><p>“Hey! I can--” he cut himself off, and started whispering again. “I can be quiet.” </p><p>Michelle just quirked an eyebrow at him and he hunched his shoulders in frustration. </p><p>“Did you have something to tell us?” Ned asked, bringing them back to task. </p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Peter leaned forward conspiratorially. “Miz Potts and Mister Stark are gonna have a <em> baby.” </em></p><p>“No way,” Ned’s eyes got big. “Mister Stark’s gonna be a <em> dad?” </em></p><p>“Poor kid,” Michelle said.</p><p>“Yes way,” Peter nodded, ignoring her. “But I wasn’t supposed to tell you because technically Mister Stark wasn’t supposed to tell <em> me, </em> so you can’t tell anyone.” </p><p>“You should do more covert Spider-Man work,” Michelle teased. “You’d be really good at it.” </p><p>“I know you’re teasing me, but I actually would be, thank you very much,” Peter responded. </p><p>Ned let his head fall into his arms on the table and groaned. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“How am I supposed to get the pity vote from college admissions people when everyone’s sob story is the same now?” Michelle asked, laptop on her thighs where she sat with her legs stretched out on Peter’s twin bed. </p><p>“Here’s a thought,” Peter spun around in his desk chair to look at her. “Maybe you don’t need it!” </p><p>He kept spinning absentmindedly, ignoring the work he had been doing on his spider suit. </p><p>“Captain of AcaDec is, like, the most academically impressive thing I have on here,” she groused. </p><p>Peter stopped spinning and scowled at her.</p><p>“You literally spend your free time trying to invent time travel.”</p><p>“I can’t put that on my essay!” she threw her hands up in exasperation. “Whatever, half the applicants are dead and half of the rest of us gave up because life’s not worth it anymore, so I’ll probably get in anyway. But it’s the principle of the thing.”</p><p>“Dark, MJ,” Peter deadpanned. “Just. Morbid as hell.”</p><p>“Man, our entire lives are morbid,” she laughed. “You’re an orphan superhero with space-related trauma, Ned’s family worked their entire lives to be able to move to this country only for the world to end, and I’m living in Ned’s dead grandmother’s bedroom because my whole family ceased to exist. Morbid.” </p><p>“Baby Stark, though!” Peter fought back. “New life, new hope for-- for the future of our planet.”</p><p>She couldn’t help but smile at him, at all of his overflowing optimism, because she knew that he wasn’t as eternally upbeat as people thought he was and she knew that sometimes, this time, that smile was for her. That hope was for her.</p><p>“Fine,” she said. “But don’t complain to me when you can’t use the orphan card on your ESU app.” </p><p>Peter blanched. “Shit.” </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Senior year passed by in a blink of an eye, with college applications and superhero-adjacent volunteer work and jobs at sandwich shops and weekends simultaneously working and goofing off in a basement lab of Avengers Tower. </p><p>Somehow, Michelle got roped into attending the prom. </p><p>The whole bunch of them gathered at the Leeds-Jones apartment to get ready with the help of the two women that had essentially become co-parents over the course of the previous two years. </p><p>Alana helped Michelle pin her hair up into a sort of faux-bob, curls hanging out and framing her face nicely, and the two of them watched and laughed as Peter and Ned bickered over a YouTube video about how to tie a tie. </p><p>When Michelle pulled out her dad’s old suit jacket from where it hung at the back of her closet and told May she wanted to wear it with her dress, May just smiled softly, fondly, and helped her roll up the sleeves and belt it into a beautifully eighties sort of look. </p><p>The three of them took goofy pictures in the living room, hanging all over each other and making Alana and May beg them for <em> just one nice smile, for the love of-- </em></p><p>“Don’t drink!” Alana said as they were making their way out the door. </p><p>“But if you do, call us and we’ll pick you up,” May said. And then, with a glare from Alana: “Don’t drink.”</p><p>Peter brought his camera and took pictures of Michelle and Ned in their empty subway car on their way to the school. The whole school dance thing had never been in Michelle’s wheelhouse, but she hadn’t laughed that much in two years. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It was a small dance, open to all four grades of students because their graduating class was painfully small and the administration was really trying to maintain any sort of morale amongst the kids in their care. </p><p>Michelle thought it might be depressing or stilted or the kind of forced-cheer that made her gut churn uncomfortably. </p><p>What it actually was, was cathartic. </p><p>It was a bunch of teenagers, brought closer by tragedy, blasting music they loved and dancing off the feelings of graduating that were a little too heavy. Where they had spent months applying to colleges and searching for jobs, drowning in the change of it all, that night they got to just be kids. </p><p>A little bit stupid, a little bit reckless, and a little bit free from their realities. </p><p>Worn out from dancing hard and screaming loud, Michelle dozed on Peter’s shoulder the whole ride home. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>A month and a half later, they had high school diplomas and photos aplenty for future blackmail. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>At the end of the world, people tended to cling to what they had left from the <em> before. </em> </p><p>Adult children moved back in with their parents, acquaintances became full-blown friends, and strangers looked out for each other. This wasn’t to say that there wasn’t still chaos, that people weren’t still taking advantage of a broken city and the broken people trying to survive within it, but they were still a far cry from hopeless. </p><p>Michelle had read plenty of stories about the way society would fall apart when the world faced a major, global loss, but she could see the way people were holding onto each other, and more than that, she could feel the way her heart reached out past the walls it had beat behind for her entire life. </p><p>At sixteen years old, Michelle Jones had been a proud loner, a bit of hermit by her own definition, but nearly two endless years later, she was honest and vulnerable and all the stronger for it. </p><p>She wasn’t surprised then when she, Ned, and Peter all stayed in New York after they finally, unbelievably, graduated high school. They needed each other, they needed this place, and maybe this place needed them a little bit too. </p><p>Peter and Ned both, unsurprisingly, got scholarships to Empire State University and Michelle was diving head first into a dual BA/MA program at Columbia because she needed her Masters if she was going to be a social worker and God did she want to, <em> God </em> did she want to as soon as possible. </p><p>The three of them moved into an apartment together-- one of those New York City shoeboxes that was technically a two-bedroom but had a mobile wall set up to cut the living room in half and make it three. They were cramped and most of their non-essentials stayed with May and Alana because they simply didn’t have the space, but they had spent the past two years living right on top of each other and weren’t quite ready to give that up. </p><p>Ned was the best cook and would leave leftovers for the other two in the fridge when he could, and Peter had learned enough about home maintenance from Ben that they rarely had to go to their landlord about leaky faucets or sticky windows. Michelle was the resident grammatical proofreader for all her STEM boys’ humanities classes and they all mutually shared the duty of yelling at each other to clean up after themselves. </p><p>They spent holidays with Alana and May and sometimes, oddly enough, the Stark-Potts household. They drank the cheap beer that convenience store owners would sometimes gift to Spider-Man and argued over whose turn it was to take the trash out and <em> live.  </em></p><p>Young and stupid and too smart for their own good, they really did live. </p><p>This arrangement lasted for a sum total of nine months (or until the end of their second semester) at which point Ned’s relationship with Betty shifted from <em> over-enthusiastic teenagers </em> to something more akin to <em> Oh, wow, are they gonna get married? </em> and they decided to get a place of their own and leave Peter and Michelle to their own devices.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“Is this adulthood?” Peter asked, sprawled out on the floor Ned’s tiny, empty bedroom, the night after they finished moving him out. </p><p>Michelle, also laying on the floor, but head pointed in the opposite direction, said, “What, being exhausted by manual labor and stairs?”</p><p>“Saying goodbye.” </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Michelle took two summer classes-- one required for her major and one for fun (see: a 300-level physics course because a Jones project on the backburner was still very much a project in progress). </p><p>She kept her job at Delmar’s and worked on essays and readings behind the counter during customer lulls and all around didn’t leave very much time for herself. Or at least, that’s what Peter thought. </p><p>“Just-- do something fun this weekend, would you?” he asked, leaning against the counter as Michelle waited for his sandwich to be finished toasting. </p><p>Peter was spending the summer interning for the sector of SI aiding refugees of the climate crisis and, you know, being Spider-Man, so Michelle wasn’t sure where he got off accusing her of working too hard. </p><p>“Where do you get off accusing me of working too hard?” she asked, arms crossed. </p><p>“Is it still an accusation if it’s also a fact?” he responded cheekily. </p><p>“You’re an ass and I’m a very fun person,” Michelle pulled his sandwich out of the toaster and wrapped it messily before practically flinging it across the counter at him. </p><p>Peter caught it, amusement flushing him to the very tips of his curls. </p><p>“I’m not saying <em> you’re </em> not fun,” he said as she rang him up. “I’m saying you’re <em> very </em> fun and maybe the world would be more fun if you went out and, I dunno, were a part of it.” </p><p>The look on Michelle’s face at that did not match the way her heart fluttered like something out of one of those Downton Abbey plotlines that Betty was so obsessed with. At least, she hoped it didn’t. </p><p>“Do you have money today or am I adding this to your lengthy tab?” she deadpanned. </p><p>Peter bared his teeth in a sheepish grin, mouth somehow already full of bread and pickles. Michelle let out a put upon sigh. </p><p>“You’re a menace.”</p><p>“I ‘ove ‘ou ‘oo,” he said through a full mouth on his way out of the store. </p><p>The bell tinkled behind him and sounded a lot like the ringing in her ears. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Eight days later, Michelle Jones lost her virginity. </p><p>It was to some guy named Rick who was blond and kind of jock-ish but not the kind of jock-ish that Michelle liked (because apparently there were different kinds and apparently she <em> did </em> like one of them). He offered to go down on her but she got nervous and embarrassed and refused and then he came super fast (like, super fast) and then <em> he </em> was all nervous and embarrassed and it was just as bad as she had always assumed her first time would be. </p><p>Sincerely. So bad. </p><p>But that wasn’t the part that had her drinking at a house party the next night like her life depended on it. That was an issue entirely its own. </p><p>“Michelle,” someone from her psych class said. “We’re doing shots!” So she did shots. </p><p>“Michelle,” some guy wearing a bucket hat said. “Want a hit?” So she took a hit. </p><p>“Michelle,” the girl she sat next to in her second semester art history course asked. “Where are you going?” </p><p>“Just getting some air,” Michelle called over her shoulder, cross-faded to all hell and alone, alone, alone. </p><p>It was a muggy July night and a third of the streetlamps lining the sidewalk were burnt out because even years later the city’s infrastructure was still a nightmare. Maybe Michelle should have called an uber and called it a night, but instead she started to walk. Aimless. </p><p>She managed to make it about a block away from the party before she found her knees giving out and her body sinking down onto the bottom step in front of an apartment building. God, she was really wasted and having a breakdown and she felt like such a cliche but it was like the train was already moving so how was she supposed to push it off track now? </p><p>She leaned into the breakdown and pulled out her phone. </p><p>It rang for a full decade before she heard the faint click of an answer. </p><p>“When I was a kid, on my birthday every year,” Michelle launched into a slightly slurred, mostly coherent story without preempt. “Dad and Gayle would always get me a new book-- something that they had read and enjoyed, so usually it was, like, um, way above my-- my reading level?”</p><p>“Em?” Peter spoke up when she stopped to breathe. “What are you-- What’s going on?” </p><p>“They bought me a <em> book </em> , Pete,” she implored him to understand. “Every year, it was like-- Here is a story that made a-- a-- a home in my heart, and I want to <em> share it with you </em> because I <em> love you.” </em> </p><p>“Okay,” Peter said patiently. “This is a good story and I can tell it’s very important, but you’re also scaring me a little bit.” </p><p>“They wrote messages to me on the inside covers,” Michelle continued, and maybe she was crying but she couldn’t feel the tears on her face. “And I never realized-- I just thought they were <em> books.” </em> </p><p>“Michelle, tell me where you are right now please,” Peter pressed, a little more sternly now. </p><p>“You don’t have to come get me,” she leaned into the railing that led up the steps. “I just-- needed to sit down for a minute.” </p><p>“Can I come sit with you?”</p><p>“You’re so earnest,” she said, because he was. </p><p>“MJ.”</p><p>She considered it, eyes slipping shut as she rocked back and forth on her sit bones with an arm around her middle. She considered the fact that she really did want him around-- always wanted him around, with his messy hair and sticky-outy ears and terrible sense of humor. </p><p>“I’ll drop a pin,” she said, already pulling the phone away from her ear. She didn’t manage to put him on speakerphone, but she navigated to texting and only sent one nonsensical message featuring a lowercase <em> r </em> and a comma before successfully sending her location. “Okay, I did it,” she said, phone still in her lap. </p><p><em> MJ? Are you okay? </em> </p><p>Michelle frowned, how was Ned in her text chain with Peter?</p><p>
  <em> I’m on it Ned, don’t worry. </em>
</p><p>Ah, group message. She lifted the phone back to her ear just as Peter was trying to get her attention with no lack of exasperation in his voice. </p><p>“I’m back,” she said.</p><p>“Christ, you’re spacey tonight,” Peter sighed. “Did you take anything? Other than, you know, the copious amounts of booze in your system?”</p><p>“Are you gonna arrest me for smoking weed, Spider-Man?” she snarked tiredly. </p><p>“I’m gonna hang up now so I can come get you,” Peter ignored her. “Please, I am begging you, not to wander off.”</p><p>“Sure,” she said, and immediately hung up.</p><p>Rick had been nice. He really had been if she was being completely honest with herself, and he really did try to make the whole experience nice for her too. Your first time is always gonna be a bit of a fumble, and most girls <em> don’t </em> get to come, right? But every time she thought about it, she wanted to puke. </p><p>Maybe that was partially the tequila. </p><p>Something flashy and red and blue landed in front of her in a crouch. </p><p>“Spider-Man,” she groused in a slurred mumble. </p><p>“Hey,” he said, but that wasn’t the voice he usually used behind the mask. That was Peter Parker’s voice and it struck a discordant note when played on top of his current appearance. “Em, hey, you listening?”</p><p>“Yes,” she sighed, rubbing a knuckle across her left eye so it came back smudged with mascara. </p><p>“I’m gonna go around the corner and change so we can get an uber home,” Peter continued steadily. “I’ll be right back though, so just-- stay here, alright? Don’t move.” </p><p>He was gone for all of sixty seconds before he was sitting on the porch step next to her wearing jeans and a t-shirt and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. </p><p>“Wanna tell me what happened?”</p><p>“I had sex,” Michelle said bluntly. Peter stiffened. </p><p>“Before or after you got plastered out of your--”</p><p>“Yesterday,” she cut him off with a shake of her head. “I was sober. S’fine.” </p><p>Peter relaxed slightly. “Okay, yeah, just making sure.” </p><p>“It was so <em> bad, </em> Peter,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands and resting her elbows on her knees. </p><p>“Who did you have sex with?” he asked with that mix of empathetic and amused that could either feel helpful or piss her off. </p><p>“Rick,” she mumbled into her hands. </p><p>Peter made a noise of disgust. “<em> Rick. </em> That should’ve been your first clue.”</p><p>Michelle sat up and slapped the back of her hand against his chest with the limited coordination she had left. </p><p>“Okay, okay,” Peter laughed, lifting his hands in surrender. “But, Em, I mean, you had bad sex-- next time it’ll be better.”</p><p>He shrugged, obviously trying to help her put the whole situation into perspective, but Michelle just broke, just started crying all over again. Peter’s face fell and his eyes got big with regret. </p><p>“Fuck,” he said under his breath, reaching out to her, but not sure if it was okay to touch her. </p><p>“Sorry,” Michelle said through hitching breath. “I’m a mess, I’m sorry, it’s just-- I just--” she made a frustrated sound and pushed herself to stand up, stumbling slightly. Peter was right behind her with a hand on her elbow to stabilize her.</p><p>He was right there and so she wasn’t alone anymore, not technically, but she could still feel that gaping hole in the center of her chest, could hear the sounds of a world halved, could feel an entire carton of milk, spilling across her shoes. </p><p>“I was supposed to call Gayle,” she finally was able to express. “The first time I had sex, I was supposed-- I mean, she’s my big sister and we only ever had our dad so she gave me the sex talk, right? And she made me promise that when I did it that I wouldn’t be afraid to talk to her about it, that I could-- complain if it was bad or gush if it was good and she would just-- <em> listen.” </em></p><p>Peter squeezed her elbow where he continued to hold it. He listened. </p><p>“I know that everyone-- all of us have lost so much,” she continued, swaying on her feet. “And it’s just part of how-- how everyday life feels now. But something about this? It felt so <em> big. </em> And I’m sorry to drag you into it like this, I just--”</p><p>“No, hey, come on,” Peter pushed into her space, or maybe he pulled her into his. Either way, she could feel his hands pressed steadily into her back as her chin hooked over his shoulder. “You’re allowed to need me sometimes. In fact, being your best friend and all, I kind of encourage it.” </p><p>“Ned’s my best friend,” she mumbled, but held him tighter. Peter laughed out loud. </p><p>“Okay, I’m not gonna take that personally because you’re crossfaded as hell,” he said.</p><p>“No, he’s my best friend because you’re my-- Peter,” Michelle insisted in that absolutely certain, completely amorphous way only a drunk college student could really manage. </p><p>A moment of breath, of softness, and then:</p><p>“Hey, that’s our car,” Peter cleared his throat and pulled away, but kept an arm around her waist for stability. “Time to go. You need water and sleep, Miss Jones.” </p><p>“I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow aren’t I,” she groaned as they trudged towards the car parked up the street. </p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Peter chuckled. “No doubt about that.”</p><p>Michelle muttered a quiet <em> fuck </em> and leaned in closer to his side. </p><p>Peter kissed her temple and helped her find her way home. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The next morning she woke up with a pulsing hangover and a new idea for that science project she was doing with Peter and Ned. </p><p>Michelle threw up, took a shower, threw up once more, and then dragged herself to Avengers Tower. She cursed herself the entire journey to the lab they’d been using and collapsed on the floor with a StarkPad connected directly to Karen’s operating system. </p><p>The concrete was pleasantly cool, and the insulated walls kept it quiet, and she only drifted off twice amidst her work. </p><p>A glass being set down on the ground next to her head where it was pillowed in her arms woke her up. So, okay three times. </p><p>“Fuck,” she cracked an eye open and was greeted with Tony Stark, sitting on the floor with crossed legs and an amused look on his face. “Oh, <em> fuck.” </em></p><p>Michelle shot up to a seated position too quickly and gave herself the spins, barely refraining from cursing in front of Iron Man for the third time in as many seconds. </p><p>“Hi,” he said with a bright smile that Michelle had to squint to look directly at. Although, that may have been the tequila. “Drink that,” he nodded to the glass on the floor between them, which Michelle was just realizing was filled to the brim with a thick, green juice. </p><p>“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself. </p><p>“You think I don’t know what a gnarly hangover looks like?” Tony leveled her with a glance. “Come on, it’ll help.” </p><p>She gave him a skeptical look. “Are you trying to poison me and get me out of Boy Wonder’s life?”</p><p>“Okay, first of all Boy Wonder can choose his own friends as evidenced by the fact that you people regularly spend time with a boy named <em> Flash,” </em> Tony snarked. “And second of all, you seem to have picked up the impression somewhere that I don’t like you and I’m curious as to where that was.” </p><p>“De--uh-- Deductive reasoning?” she fumbled over her words. This was not the polished Michelle Jones she usually projected around Peter’s punchy-fighty-genius friends. </p><p>Tony made an astonished sort of sound and Michelle picked up the glass, sniffed it, grimaced. She pinched her nose and downed a gulp, barely managing not to immediately spit it back up. </p><p>“Oh, God,” she coughed. </p><p>“Yeah, that’s a Rhodey original,” Tony laughed. “Never got through a whole glass myself.”</p><p>“For the record, the poisoning thing was a joke, but now I’m not so sure,” Michelle slid her backpack closer and pulled out a bottle of water to wash the taste out of her mouth. </p><p>“What are you working on?” he nodded to the StarkPad between them. </p><p>Michelle wiped her mouth. “Nothing,” she sighed. “I woke up with inspiration but I think I might have just still been drunk.” </p><p>The truth was, Tony didn’t know anything about the way she’d grappled her friends into trying to do the impossible, and thought they were just geeks fucking around in his lab. Although that assumption wasn’t entirely inaccurate, Michelle wasn’t sure why they continued to keep it from him, except that it felt like the right move. </p><p>It felt like the minute a real adult found out what was going on, that it would all end. </p><p>“When I was in the eighth grade I wrote a paper about how you’re a war criminal,” Michelle’s mouth said of its own accord, horrifying her only slightly. </p><p>Tony cocked his head to the side contemplatively. “Did you argue your point well?”</p><p>“Very.”</p><p>“Good job, then,” he shrugged. “Come on, Happy’s gonna take you home. I’ve already got one young woman puking all over my Tower and I don’t need a second.”</p><p>He helped her up off of the floor and grabbed her backpack, swinging it over his shoulder. </p><p>“If you ever compare me to your baby again I’ll get the Daily Bugle to publish that paper I wrote about you,” Michelle threatened weakly. </p><p>Tony threw his arm around her shoulders and laughed, loud and bright as he led her to the elevator. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Peter turned twenty years old.</p><p>Eight days later, so did Michelle. </p><p>The world kept turning. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "You did it, Michelle Jones."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“They want it to be fixed, right?” she asked a beat later, uncertain and quiet. “They haven’t settled into the new normal enough to not want it all back?” </p>
<p>“We gotta try, right?” Peter said softly, so close to her ear, so far away. “I think you were right about that much.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, part two /is/ longer than part one because I didn't bother to put my arbitrary chapter break in the proper middle thank you for noticing!</p>
<p>Thank you to everyone who read and commented on part one and I hope you enjoy the conclusion &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>During Michelle’s sophomore year of college, the world seemed to collectively press </span>
  <em>
    <span>play</span>
  </em>
  <span> again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that people hadn’t continued on with their lives, but there had also been a sense of waiting, of putting certain things off </span>
  <em>
    <span>just in case.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then winter hit and it was as if everyone suddenly realized that there really was no fix to the tragedy that had befallen them, that the Avengers weren’t going to swoop in with some incomprehensible plan to save what they had lost and make the past three years a blip in human history. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle wasn’t quite as convinced that they were out of options, but she agreed that the Avengers were damn well near useless. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was officially October and getting too cold to be out on the fire escape after dark, but sit out on the fire escape they did. Michelle didn’t like it when the couch smelled like weed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle let her feet hang off the edge, facing away from Peter and Ned where they sat fully on the platform and passing a joint back and forth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drunk teenager,” she pointed at the street. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t count,” Peter shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought the game was </span>
  <em>
    <span>who has the least business being out this time of night?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michelle balked before reiterating, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Drunk teenager,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you think about it,” Ned chimed in. “That’s kind of exactly who you’d expect to be sneaking around after dark.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who asked you?” Michelle grumbled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Peter held the joint over her shoulder in offering. “Your competitive edge is harshing the vibe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle took a drag from the joint but glanced around to glare at him. Peter just took the joint back with a cheeky sort of grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, then you two find someone better,” she challenged, turning her gaze back to the street below them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned peered over the edge. “Business man,” he said almost immediately. “What’s his business?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could’ve had a meeting,” Peter said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In the middle of the night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meetings over drinks are a thing!” Peter defended. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Disqualified because meetings over drinks are a thing,” Michelle nodded sagely, pretending to hit a gavel against the grating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You guys are the worst,” Ned complained, and then choked slightly on a too-deep inhale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think this game might be easier if we weren’t working at half capacity,” Peter said with an irreverent sort of sadness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you ever think about the fact that all of them lost someone?” Ned asked, handing the joint over to Peter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I tend to try not to, actually,” Peter said with a dry laugh. “Not when I don’t have to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle swung her feet below her, let her forehead rest against one of the bars on the railing. She leaned back to take a drag from the joint still in between Peter’s fingers and then returned to her original position. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They want it to be fixed, right?” she asked a beat later, uncertain and quiet. “They haven’t settled into the new normal enough to not want it all back?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Em…” Peter breathed, leaning his shoulder into the rail so he was looking at her in profile. “You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m high,” she said. “But I also mean it, like-- in the fucking-- long-shot outcome where we figure it out, are we just gonna be disrupting any sense of peace that people might’ve been able to find in the aftermath? Have I got such selfish tunnel vision not to realize that maybe this isn’t what would do the most good for everyone?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter kissed her shoulder, rested his chin in the same spot, looked up through his eyelashes at where her curls framed the shell of her ear. He was high too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MJ, if we’re playing hypotheticals,” Ned said. “Don't forget about all the parents who could get their kids back, and all the kids that could get their parents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We gotta try, right?” Peter said softly, so close to her ear, so far away. “I think you were right about that much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle let her eyes drift shut against the glow of the street lamps, the yellow glow from windows across the way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Resilience had a way of taking everything that came her way in stride. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle envied her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A clatter, a crash, a groan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle stopped typing mid-sentence and opened her ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spidey?” she called. “That you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The given answer was the sound of staggered footsteps from Peter’s bedroom to the bathroom, the rings of the shower curtain sliding against the rod, and a heavy </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle wasn’t unaccustomed to the plight of a hard night of vigilantism, especially in a world that made surviving harder and people more desperate, but when she stepped out of her bedroom and saw a series of smeared, bloody handprints on the wall leading to the bathroom, her anxiety took the wheel away from any rationality she might have had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter?!” she exclaimed, rushing to follow him and finding a half-masked, bloody superhero in her bathtub. “Jesus Christ, what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, hey, MJ,” Peter lifted a weak hand in a wave while the other remained pressed to his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, hey?!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michelle repeated, pitch of her voice higher than she was aware it could go. She fumbled through the messy cabinet below the sink and pulled out the well-used first-aid kit that resided there. “Motherfucker comes home at two in the morning, bleeds all over my apartment, and says </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, hey--</span>
  </em>
  <span> You need to take your suit off so I can see.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hot,” Peter muttered, already pressing the spider in the center of the chest and letting the fabric slide down around his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Flirting with me while you’re bleeding out will not get the results you’re expecting,” Michelle pulled the suit down to his hips so she could see the sluggishly bleeding wound in his right side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What results will it get?” he asked groggily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Castration, probably.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hummed in understanding. “Valid.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michelle asked again as she tried to clean the wound and tried to keep herself from gagging over the sight and smell of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got stabbed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>How?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might’ve-- um, well, jumped in front of a very pointy knife?” he responded. Michelle didn’t even care that he was obviously sheepish about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>jumped in front of?!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop yelling at me, I got </span>
  <em>
    <span>stabbed.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m aware, Parker!” Michelle yelled. “Why do you think I’m yelling?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was either me or someone who doesn’t have super healing and a very smart roommate-slash-best-friend who can definitely figure out how to do stitches,” he shrugged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t do stitches,” she blanched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you can,” he said confidently. He reached up and pulled his mask the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the floor outside the tub and looked her in the eye. “You just cleaned out the wound and pressed gauze into it without a-- a second thought, you totally got this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter…” she pressed down a little too hard and he winced. “Shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” he rested a bloody hand on top of hers. “Just three quick stitches and we can both pass out, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle clenched her jaw, breathed deeply through her nose, and let it out in a disbelieving huff before she climbed into the tub with him, both knees straddling one of his legs so she could better reach her new assignment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered, readying her supplies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Peter said, earnest as ever and tinged with exhaustion. He took one of her unsteady hands and pressed a kiss to her palm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle steeled herself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stitched him up. Slowly, carefully, and with a reasonable amount of cursing for the situation at hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She helped him to his bed. Slowly, carefully, and with tears of relief and concern and anger prickling at her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laid down beside him. Slowly, carefully, and with the excuse of </span>
  <em>
    <span>in case something happens overnight.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she was in the seventh grade, Michelle got sent home from school for pouring an entire carton of milk onto a boy’s head at lunch. He had been touching her hair without her permission and she got three days suspension. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not the kind of behavior Resilience would approve of,” Atticus said in the car on the way home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m too old for that story,” Michelle grumbled. “But it totally is.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, why can’t we use the highly intelligent AI to our advantage?” Michelle asked, sitting on the kitchen counter in the apartment Ned shared with Betty. She was eating the vegetables that Ned was trying to cook with before he could actually cook with them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because,” Peter groaned, from where he sat cross legged on the ceiling. “Friday is Tony’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>personal</span>
  </em>
  <span> AI and is definitely programmed to let him know if I try to look at classified government files about possible military attempts at time travel.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s specific,” Michelle snorted and munched on a piece of bell pepper. Ned made a disgruntled sound at her that she ignored. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what I mean,” Peter said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The issue is that we’ve been hiding this thing from Tony for years and don’t want him to find out, right?” Ned asked. “That’s the problem we’re dealing with-- MJ stop eating that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, if Tony were to find out we’d suddenly have to deal with all sorts of-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>protocol,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter grimaced. “So he doesn’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony also doesn’t know you spent the better part of three months sleeping with Norman Osborn’s kid,” Michelle said drily. “If I’m only able to keep one secret from him which should I choose?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Harry and I are both twenty full years old so kindly don’t call him a kid,” Peter made a face. “Makes me sound like a fucking predator.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s old news,” Michelle said. “Bugle published that story ages ago.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter glared at her and she smiled back faux-innocently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you two stop flirting? It’s really ruining my appetite,” Ned asked tiredly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle and Peter both blanched, but she felt her pulse thrum just a little faster in her throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Michelle cleared her throat. “Time travel?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my God, Gayle has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michelle!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daddy! I saw Gayle kissing! It was so gross!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gayle and kissing-boy sitting in a tree--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go listen to your stupid superhero bedtime stories and leave me alone!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you mad at me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I be mad at you, Peter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno,” he shrugged. “But you seem kind of mad at me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle huffed, wrapped the ice pack she had just finished making in a towel, and carried it to where Peter was leaning against the counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was talking to Ned yesterday,” she said, carefully resting the ice against Peter’s swollen black eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you’re mad at Ned?” he asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He thinks we should take a break from the Stones project,” she said flatly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Peter said, taking the ice pack into his own hand because apparently he could tell that she needed to fidget. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she stepped away and leaned against the sink across from him. “My pessimist nature says he’s right, but I know you’ll probably disagree.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> nature?” Peter snorted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weird thing to be amused by.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I’m sorry, it’s just. Em,” Peter laughed. “You know deep down you’re an idealist, right? Actually, not deep down at all, like, right on the surface.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am not,” she responded, feeling as petulant as she sounded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are too!” Peter tossed right back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Michelle Jones,” Peter took a step towards her. “You will never convince me that you’re not an idealist, if only because I’ve spent the past four years trying to help you invent </span>
  <em>
    <span>time travel</span>
  </em>
  <span> because you believe there might still be a way to undo the deaths of half the universe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t patronize me,” she scowled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then don’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>help me out</span>
  </em>
  <span> to spare my fucking feelings, Peter!” Michelle raised her voice. “If you want to give up, be my fucking guest!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to fight you about this right now,” Peter was talking with his hands now, ice pack forgotten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, too bad! We’re fighting!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter covered his face with one hand. “God, I can’t stand you sometimes,” he said into his palm. “Is it this hard for you to take a compliment?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A compliment?” Michelle repeated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have so much hope in your heart, Michelle!” Peter exclaimed. “After everything you are so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopeful</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that’s all I was saying.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle’s jaw clenched and her skin felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, colored red with humiliation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, maybe being called hopeful in a world as hopeless as this sounds less like a kindness and more like being told you’re stupid and-- and </span>
  <em>
    <span>naive,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she spat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tension almost immediately broke with the way that shut Peter up, losing some of his hard edges where he stood in front of her, more bruised and beaten than he had any right to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think you’re naive,” he said earnestly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle clenched her jaw, not meeting his eye. She wanted to cry but she didn’t want to cry in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have any other injuries we need to worry about or will you be okay to get home?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter furrowed his brow at her. “Can we just--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Terse and uncomfortable and something so unlike the world that Peter Parker carried with him everywhere he went. Michelle felt guilt churn in her gut as she watched him tense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, fine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hated watching him climb out her window and she hated the taste their fight left in her mouth and she hated not being able to immediately call him up and complain about this asshole who pissed her off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I overreacted,” she said, a week later when they were both tired of pretending they were still mad about nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I miscommunicated,” Peter shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you let me apologize to you?” Michelle sighed, exasperated. “Is that something that you can do, please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter chewed at his lip, trying to hold back a small smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The three of them went to Tony’s lake house in August to have a joint celebration getaway for Peter and Michelle’s birthdays.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They drove out after Michelle finished work that Thursday with the intention of taking a long weekend, and pulled up to the house late that night long after Morgan was in bed. Ned and Michelle, who had driven and navigated respectively, were more wiped out than Peter, who had fallen asleep in the backseat and snored for half the journey, but they were all willing to sit down for a cup of tea with Pepper and Tony before they turned in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morgan’s going to be thrilled to see you guys in the morning,” Pepper said once they were all gathered around the kitchen table. “She could use a little cheering up after the disaster that was day camp this summer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is someone being mean to Morgan?” Peter asked, brow furrowed in concern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Pepper sighed. “But any time another kid gets bullied our daughter somehow ends up in the middle of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s spending too much time around you people is the problem,” Tony said, carrying a pot of decaf coffee and one of tea to the table. “All that moral superiority isn’t good for a child.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> Iron Man,” Peter laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, now we’ve got a little girl going around suplexing her classmates,” Tony said with exasperation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle snorted into her tea and everyone turned to look at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you would like that,” Tony deadpanned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The first time I met MJ was when we both did debate club freshman year and she kneed some guy in the nuts the first day,” Peter said with more fondness than the story warranted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my God, I forgot about that,” Ned choked on a laugh. “Neil Barnard, the poor guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did he do?” Pepper asked, trying to hold back a chuckle of her own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t remember,” Michelle shrugged. “But he deserved it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You truly do scare me sometimes, Michelle Jones,” Tony narrowed his eyes at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle smirked. “Good.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There were only two guest rooms, so Peter and Ned shared one and Michelle got the other. Mostly, she was grateful for the space to herself, but there was a part of her, still sixteen and wanting, who craved to curl up in bed with her two best friends and drift off as they passed bad jokes back and forth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sleeping alone left a little too much room for her to remember that she was about to get another year older without the other Joneses by her side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nonetheless, she slept, and nonetheless she got older, and nonetheless morning came.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>May arrived the next day and Michelle had to drag a little Morgan who was attached to her leg across the room so she could give May a hug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would always be strange, having these happy moments at the end of everything, but they had them nonetheless. Michelle figured that was what Resilience would expect of her anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look good,” May said as she and Michelle sat on the porch swing and watched Peter and Ned play a convoluted game of tag with Morgan featuring home bases and-- magic spells?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need a haircut,” Michelle chuckled, pushing her long ponytail over her shoulder and out of the way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your hair is always beautiful,” May reprimanded. “But I meant you look happier. Content.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle laughed. “You know, that might be the first time anyone has ever called me content.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I like to think I know you better than most people,” May said faux-haughtily, sending them both into another fit of laughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How could you two possibly be having fun over here all by yourselves?” Peter suddenly popped up in front of them, hanging from the other side of the porch railing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The real question is how you’re having fun </span>
  <em>
    <span>without</span>
  </em>
  <span> us?” May shot back at him. Peter gasped in mock-offense and then directed his attention to Michelle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MJ, the little gremlin is requesting your presence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just the gremlin is?” May muttered to herself, but she went ignored. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No amount of begging is going to get me to run, Parker,” Michelle said flatly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter hummed in contemplation. “No running?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No running,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop looking for loopholes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Friday, you’ve still got Karen hooked up, right?” Peter asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Peter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grinned and hopped down from the porch and practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>skipped</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the middle of the grass.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Karen!” Peter declared. “Party playlist, please!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately a jovial beat blared from the speakers and Peter began to bounce on the balls of his feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” he grinned as he began to dance. Morgan caught on quickly that this was fun, that Peter was having </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she ran out from her little tent to join in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle couldn’t help but notice that the dance moves between the two of them weren’t all that dissimilar, with flailing limbs and a lot of nonsensical kicking and hips swinging back and forth erratically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dance party!” Ned rushed up the steps of the porch and grabbed Michelle’s hand in one fluid movement, tugging her to the middle of the yard where Peter and Morgan were, quite frankly, having the time of their lives. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ned!” Michelle objected, but not without a bubble of a laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No way are you getting out of this one, almost-birthday girl!” Ned said, grabbing both of her hands and forcing her body to move to the music just as the chorus hit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>May was definitely laughing at all of them from the porch and was definitely recording the whole thing on her phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’M STILL STANDING, BETTER THAN I EVER DID!” Peter sang along with Sir Elton at the top of his lungs. “LOOKING LIKE A TRUE SURVIVOR, FEELING LIKE A LITTLE KID!” he pointed at Morgan who squealed with delight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that point, maybe, just maybe, Michelle started to dance more of her own volition rather than just going along with whatever Ned led her into. She had always felt too lanky and awkward to really be a successful mover in any sense, but she understood rhythm, she knew what a beat felt like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the top of the guitar solo, Peter hopped onto the picnic table and began to enthusiastically air guitar-- hair whips included, only to flip right back down to the ground the moment it ended. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ned!” Morgan tugged at his shirt. “Shoulders!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, but of course, Madame,” Ned squatted down to pick her up, continuing to be her legs as she flipped her hands around like she was conducting the music. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And maybe Michelle should have expected it, the way Peter swooped into her personal space in that moment, and maybe she would have, had she not been so caught up in the unfamiliar lightness in her belly, but before she knew it he had his right hand in hers and his left on her waist and they were dancing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were dancing and he was beaming at her with that joyful sort of fondness that he reserved for his family and Michelle didn’t object in the slightest. She bounced to the music with him, she let him twirl her and he let her dip him and they were laughing and flushed and happy all the while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the music began to fade out into whatever the next song on Peter’s playlist was, Michelle realized they were standing incredibly close, practically flush against each other. She could feel it, his proximity, the way it was right and good and terrifying all the way to the tips of her toes and the ends of her curls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s soft smile turned devious, and Michelle didn’t even have the chance to process such a thing before he had her over his shoulder and was running towards the lake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Parker!” she yelled, slapping at his shoulder blades as his grip tightened around her thighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In return he just cackled and whooped as he threw the both of them off the end of the pier and into the deep end. Michelle could still feel his hands on her body as they sunk in the water, and for one, slow motion, endless moment, she felt weightless. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not telling you how or when,” Michelle said later, once they were back on the pier and she was wrapped in a towel, curls hanging limply around her face. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be getting you back for that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Peter smirked at her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>During their fourth year as college students, the three of them didn’t see as much of each other as they would have liked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were busy, wrapped up in low-paying jobs and classes and living in three different homes for the first time since they were sixteen. Peter already knew he was going to be a five-year student, but he was trying to catch up on a few credits he’d missed due to Spider-Man related absences. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned was looking for a high-enough paying job that he might be able to help his mom with some of her financial struggles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Michelle was trying to graduate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So it was something of a miracle when they were all in the same place at the same time. Or at least, that was how May Parker referred to her scheduling skills. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We are ringing in a new year and we will do so as a family!” she had said to each of them individually to get them to her apartment on that night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And who were they to deny May Parker something that she wanted? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was cheap champagne and food supplied by Alana and those little party horns that made the worst kind of noise. May and Alana made all of them go around and give them proper life updates with </span>
  <em>
    <span>more syllables than that, Michelle,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it was good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was really, very good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of them were a little bit tipsy by the time they were watching the ball drop, and they kissed each other on the cheeks and danced as Auld Lang Syne filtered out of that boxy television’s speakers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle and Peter shared a cab to get home, and he kissed her on the cheek again, a little longer this time, when they parted ways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cried in bed that night, overwhelmed by the way her joy had become so skilled at coexisting with her grief. She fell asleep flushed and happy and ready to take her last semester by storm, accompanied by the deep ache in her gut the entire time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This, like everything, she was doing for them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does Resilience ever cry?” Michelle asked, seven years old and learning what it felt like to be gossiped about by the girls you thought were your friends. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course she cries,” Atticus said, tucking Michelle further into her mountain of blankets. “But you know what she does when people hurt her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She lets it make her kinder.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle graduated from Columbia and moved into her own little studio apartment in the same week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The amount of change happening all at once made her sick to her stomach, made her susceptible to bursting into tears in the middle of the day, and filled her with a sense of potential she thought had been lost many years ago now, in a stairwell in Queens. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could have continued to live with Peter, she knew that he would be fine with it and that they had a system that worked between the two of them. The problem arose with the fact that Michelle had a new job to focus on, had people she was trying to help, and when she went home at the end of the day to Peter Parker, it felt a lot like having something that she didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle Jones was self aware enough to realize that her high school crush on Peter had never really gone away, not with how instrumental a part of her life he had become in the past five years, but something about it was reshaping, slowly but with purpose, and it scared her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she moved out, and she tried to put her focus elsewhere, and she ignored the fact that it was very much not working. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were having a perfectly respectable afternoon with Ned and Betty when Peter’s spidey sense went off, followed by a blaring siren, and him rushing into his suit and out the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Really, why would Michelle think anything about her life could be perfectly respectable, though?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, can we take this opportunity to have an intervention?” Ned spoke up practically the moment Peter was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An intervention?” Michelle looked at him quizzically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to talk to him, MJ,” Ned said. “I swear to God, for all of our sakes, please talk to him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Betty nodded sagely and sipped her coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-- feel like I’m missing something,” Michelle said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should really talk to him,” Betty reiterated. “About your feelings.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A wave of tired exasperation rolled over Michelle and she slouched deeper into the couch with a heavy breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is so not a conversation we need to have,” she said drily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to be the one to bring it up-- He’s never going to say anything,” Ned insisted. “No matter how much he wants to, he won’t say anything because he’s got a guilt complex the size of Manhattan and a part of him still blames himself for, like, killing your whole family--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>does,</span>
  </em>
  <span> MJ,” Ned didn’t let her interject. “But the two of you </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> need to have this conversation otherwise you’ll just be a couple of miserable fucks for the rest of your lives thinking about what could have been.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harsh,” Michelle deadpanned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But true,” Betty nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you both dearly,” Michelle sat up and grabbed her bag. “But I, uh, forgot I have to go because I need to be-- literally anywhere else.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She crossed the apartment without looking back and Ned called a desperate, “We’re just trying to help!” after her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle wondered if she needed a larger pool of friends. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle met Bailey when she snuck into a guest lecture for Columbia’s STEM students. It was about timespace and unproven theories and there was no way she was going to miss out on this opportunity, so she wormed her way in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sat in the back corner and took frantic notes and figured no one would notice that she didn’t belong there, but Bailey did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s a social-worker-to-be getting out of this lecture?” she slipped quietly into the empty seat beside Michelle and leaned in close to whisper to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle didn’t jump out of her skin, but it was a near thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I know you?” she furrowed her brow at the girl. She was pretty, jockish and fit with the kind of smile that was all teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bailey McMann,” she introduced herself. “We took a physics elective together a while back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” realization passed over Michelle’s face. “Right, sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem,” Bailey grinned. “I got a haircut since then,” she ran a hand over her close-cropped hair. “So, what’s a humanities girl like you, doing in a place like this?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was very much in Michelle’s space and Michelle was finding she really didn’t mind all that much. Her heart raced in a pleasant sort of way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Confidential,” she shrugged glibly. Bailey beamed, she really did have a pretty smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle didn’t end up getting much out of that lecture, and instead ended up more acquainted with Bailey’s mouth on hers in the third floor supply closet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was young, horny, and pining for her best friend so she wasn’t about to let herself feel guilty about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanna come back to my place?” Bailey asked, short of breath and face close to Michelle’s </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, um,” Michelle sighed. Okay, maybe she was going to let herself feel a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> guilty. “I probably shouldn’t,” she said sheepishly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got somewhere to be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I just,” Michelle floundered. “I’m… Well-- God.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bailey smirked at her. “Is there someone else?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No,” Michelle laughed too-loud in the tiny space. “No, no, definitely-- No one else.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, babe,” Bailey chuckled at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? What’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If they’ve got you feeling weird about a genuinely casual hookup you’ve got it bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” she let her head fall back against a shelf full of paper towels. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s all good,” Bailey smiled, genuinely amused by the situation. “Hey, just invite me to the wedding.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle laughed. She was so fucked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes life was all awkward hookups in supply closets and impossible math equations with your friends. Sometimes it was laughter and love and making a fool out of yourself after having a little too much to drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But sometimes, everything was so complicated, so overwhelming and difficult to grapple with, and Michelle wasn’t sure if it was the ongoing post-war depression of it all or if that was just how growing up felt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She supposed having an answer wouldn’t really help all that much. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were back at the lake house, grilling burgers in the summer sun when company arrived. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle and Peter were arguing over the grill about how long a veggie burger was meant to cook while Ned and Morgan played Connect-Four at the picnic table a few yards away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then a car pulled up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Tony!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Pete?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-- You expecting visitors?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony stepped out onto the porch just as Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov stepped out of their car, accompanied by a dead man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck?” Michelle muttered to Peter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hell if I know.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, we know what it sounds like,” said the dead man, who apparently had never been dead at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned had taken Morgan inside, but Michelle and Peter were both stubborn enough to be able to insert themselves into this conversation and although they could tell Tony wanted them to leave, they could also tell he wasn’t going to tell them off in front of the newcomers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, really, after everything you’ve seen--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck scale, which--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which then triggers the Deutsch proposition,” Michelle cut him off bluntly. “Yeah, we know, but let the guy talk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone looked at her a little disbelieving but she wasn’t about to dumb herself down for these people. Luckily she had Peter in her corner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In layman’s terms,” he explained. “It means-- Well, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>usually</span>
  </em>
  <span> means you can’t come back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” Scott shrugged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Tony shook his head, and then looked at the kids sitting at the grown up table. “No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> accidentally survived in a-- a billion-to-one cosmic fluke-- What is this…?” he motioned between the two of them with bafflement in his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony…” Peter started. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you know what? I’ll deal with you later,” Tony said before turning back to the others. “This plan, this-- What are you calling it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Time… heist?” Scott said, seemingly realizing how dumb it sounded even as he said it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” Peter mumbled. Michelle dug her elbow into his ribs none too gently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, right,” Tony continued. “And why didn’t we think of this before? Was it because it’s a pipe dream?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” Michelle crossed her arms, not even bothering to keep her volume low. Everyone was looking at her again. “Listen, I get you’re the smartest person in the room right now and I’m the kid that’s supposed to shut up and listen, but you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” Natasha asked, intrigue in the quirk of her brow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you if you use your spy training to fix my credit score.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha actually smirked then. “I like her,” she said to Steve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Stones are in the past,” Michelle looked Tony directly in the eye. “We could go back and get them.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We could snap our own fingers,” Peter backed her up. “We could bring everybody back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or screw it up worse than Thanos already did,” Tony fired back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t believe that we would,” Natasha said, somehow acting as the voice of faith in the conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“High hopes aren’t gonna help us if there’s not logical, tangible way for me to safely execute--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know there’s not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you supposed to be the quiet, broody one?” Tony mocked unkindly. “I believe that the most likely outcome here is our collective demise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if we strictly follow the rules of time travel,” Scott chimed in. “No talking to our past selves, no betting on sporting events--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, are you basing your plan to save the universe on Back to the Future?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott sighed, shook his head. “No.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, because that would be horseshit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle was buzzing with frustration, and she barely noticed how tense she was until Peter’s hand appeared around her bicep, thumb smoothing gently over the fabric of her shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let out a breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” Natasha said. “We have to take a stand.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We did stand,” he said. “And here we are.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you’ve got a lot on the line. A wife, a daughter,” Scott said, and he was gentle about it, kind in a way Michelle knew she couldn’t have been in the moment. “But I lost someone very important to me--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A lot of people did,” Peter said, as if from Michelle’s own mouth, as if he could feel her spiralling out and was offering to be her voice when she couldn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott nodded at him. “And now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> we have a chance to bring her-- to bring </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> back and you’re telling me you won’t even--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right, Scott, I won’t,” Tony said, just as level-headed as ever. Just as maddeningly fucking level-headed but maybe also a little regretful. “I can’t.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle kept listening but the thing was, she didn’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She didn’t want to hear the sob story of a man whose failure had taken her family away, about how he wasn’t willing to risk a lick of it to fix what he’d broken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish you guys had come to ask for something else-- anything else,” Tony said. “It’s honestly good to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” Steve spoke up. “I’m happy for you, I am. But this is a second chance.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cap, I’ve got my second chance right inside those doors,” he motioned to the house. “I can’t roll the dice on that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle pushed off the wall where she was leaning and walked to the other side of the porch. She couldn’t look at him, she was fractured in too many places for that not to be the thing that shattered her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were eyes on her, but she could tell they didn’t want her to know, so she ignored them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you don’t talk shop you can stay for lunch,” Tony said, casual tone back. “Although, the three musketeers were the ones grilling so I’m not sure how that’s gonna go.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle wanted to punch him in the face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It took all of ninety seconds of pure, stilted awkwardness after the car pulled out of the drive for both Ned to reappear and Tony to turn on them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I ask how long exactly you three have been putting together catastrophic plans behind my back?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Catastrophic…? Tony--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Pete,” Tony cut him off. “You’re messing around with shit you don’t understand in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> lab and it would be my responsibility if anyone got hurt!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, give me a fucking break,” Michelle said flatly. “We haven’t been blowing things up, we’ve been doing complicated mathematical and scientific formulas for six years-- formulas which, for the record, we could probably make </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Scott’s help.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re not talking about playing around with theory, do you get that?” he asked. “This is a real and dangerous thing they want to attempt.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do get that,” Michelle said. “Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> get that this wasn’t an idea I came up with on a whim? That I've been serious about it from day one?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Day one? You mean when you were sixteen?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what, I am so tired of this,” she laughed bitterly. “I am so tired of feeling naive for thinking that we could fix it and for a second there I thought-- These people show up and I thought maybe we’d finally be able to put all the pieces together but apparently Tony Stark’s a coward now, so we can’t!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MJ--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m being </span>
  <em>
    <span>realistic.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look,” she choked out. “I get that you have everything you’ll ever need, I get that you’ve gone and built this life for yourself, but you do not get to be so selfish as to say you deserve it more than the rest of us!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Michelle, that’s not what I’m--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is,” she said, decisive and strong. “It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you’re saying, Tony.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just because we test this new theory doesn’t mean anything will come of it,” Ned said, trying to mediate. “We don’t know that we’ll solve it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, we do,” Michelle laughed bitterly. “And he knows it too, or why do you think he’s so against the mere thought of trying? Because with our six years of work, plus this new key, plus </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?</span>
  </em>
  <span> We have it if we want it and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter took a step towards her. “Em--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t.” She stepped away, she didn’t let him touch her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re turning a layered, complex issue into some black-and-white moral absolute,” Tony said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know about moral absolutes,” she said. “But in a few weeks I turn twenty-two and I’ll officially be older than my big sister. So, I’m gonna keep trying with or without the rest of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle stormed down the steps, got in her car, and drove twenty minutes to the closest gas station where she bought a pack of Marlboro Lights. </span>
  <span>Atticus hadn’t been able to kick the habit until Michelle was twelve years old, so the smell of it still evoked a comforting sort of homeyness despite also being truly disgusting. She breathed out a thick, gag-worthy cloud as she leaned against the hood of her car and tried to see the opposite point of view. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She treated it like the year she spent in debate club when she was fourteen before the faculty advisor realized she would throw every match she didn’t get assigned the stance she agreed with and gently suggested maybe it wasn’t the extracurricular for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle visualized the white board for this specific debate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The issue: </span>
  </em>
  <span>In the case of undoing the act of genocide by the Titan Thanos, should we strive for whatever opportunities may arise in the reclamation of peoples lost to the Decimation?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The affirmative: </span>
  </em>
  <span>In a tragedy as widespread in magnitude as Thanos’s snap, we must work to gain back what we have lost no matter the risk involved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The negative: </span>
  </em>
  <span>What is gone is gone, but senselessly risking everything that has been rebuilt, all the children who have been born and lives that have been changed in the past six years is reckless and cruel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle took another drag from her cigarette, finally putting it out after she nearly coughed up a lung. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Atticus had tried to teach her once, after a blow-out fight between sisters, that sometimes you were in the wrong and sometimes it fell on you to hold yourself accountable for that fact. The responsibility of concession was just as important as standing up for yourself when you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle considered this, as she watched the sun fall and the stars rise, and she came to two conclusions. Firstly, she was old enough, mature enough, and experienced enough to know when she was wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Secondly, in this case, she very much wasn’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The lake house was quiet by the time Michelle returned, having both cooled down and solidified her stance with vigor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She came through the front door with as little noise as she could, only to find Tony, still awake and stood in front of a holographic table in the living room. It was displaying their research, their formulas, their work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was about to call it a night,” Tony said. “But come here for a second.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is everyone asleep?” she asked as she kicked off her shoes by the door and approached the work station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Supposedly,” Tony said. “Pretty sure Peter is waiting for you in your room though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle didn’t validate that with a response, instead turning her gaze to what Tony had been working on, the tweaks he had made and the many failed simulations he had run. The changes were impressive though, with the added knowledge that Scott had offered them, it was painfully close. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could feel it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The mobius strip didn’t work?” she pointed to where the attempt was logged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not quite,” Tony shook his head. “Thought we had a good shot at that one too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle zoomed in on the specifics of the math, studying the details of the formula they were using. She silently mouthed steps as she drew with the tip of her finger on the tabletop to keep track of where she was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This part feels weird,” she pointed. “I don’t know why though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony leaned in and looked at it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We could try the inverse of it,” he said. “Just for shits-- Hey, Friday, run a simulation on that last one but inverted and then we’ll call it a night and come back in the morning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calculating now, Boss,” Friday’s voice emanated around them in the dim light of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry if it doesn’t pan out,” he said around a sip of coffee. “Michelle and I are just kind of-- shooting the shit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled at her, something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She offered the same thing in return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Model rendered,” Friday cut into the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat, a mechanical whirring sound as the results appeared in the hologram before them, and then--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeaked</span>
  </em>
  <span> in disbelief, falling into the chair behind him heavily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle stared at the results, passing that disbelief and falling straight into some sort of Dali-esque surrealism where she was a giant snail and Tony was a melting clock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No way,” she breathed, heart racing faster than it ever had because they’d done it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d invented time travel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean really,” Tony said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Shit.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both turned to see little Morgan Stark, the hope for the future herself beaming at the foot of the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle didn’t fully process what happened next, but Tony took his daughter to bed and presumably disappeared to have a lengthy conversation with his wife about, well, about the terrible thing Michelle Jones had baited him into doing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She just sat on the couch for a moment, staring at </span>
  <em>
    <span>MODEL SUCCESSFUL</span>
  </em>
  <span> as if looking away for even a moment would change the result, and then she pulled herself back into her body by the ear and forced herself up the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter was, in fact, waiting in her bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re back,” he stood up quickly from where he’d been curled up on the windowsill the moment she entered the room and shut the door behind her. “I was-- I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle smiled softly at him and leaned back against the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that Tony is an ass,” Peter said. “But he was caught off guard, y’know? And just because he said no tonight, that doesn’t mean we can’t sit down with him and talk to him about it again. I think, really, he’ll help us if we just-- I mean not that you did anything wrong, you totally had the right to tear into him, I’m just saying-- this doesn’t have to be the end of the line! We’ll keep working at it, we’ll--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We figured it out,” she cut him off, no louder than she generally was on a day-to-day basis, not quicker or more urgent. Just, the truth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter froze. She covered her mouth with her hand because she couldn’t feel herself smiling unless she physically pressed the pads of her fingers to her lips. She was in her hands but not her head, she was in that room but not that galaxy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Time travel,” she said, a bubble of air escaping her lungs that was almost a laugh. “Just now. Downstairs.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” he clenched his hands where they had frozen mid-air, released them again as his face split with an earth-shaking grin. “Em-- You--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We did it,” she laughed for real that time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, as if he had no say in the matter, Peter stepped forward, held her face in his hands, and pecked her straight on the lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was quick and surprising and when they met each other’s eyes a moment later it was as if they’d finally shifted that final bit of weight to take them plummeting down the other side of the mountain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle kissed him, hands sliding around his waist and up his shoulder blades and Peter kept his hands where they were, thumbs smoothing across her temples as he kissed her back. She was suddenly aware that she definitely tasted like cigarettes but Peter didn’t seem to give a shit in the moment, continuing slow and longing and real, real, </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> up against her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body felt right in her arms and his hands grounded her back in her shoes and--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A knock sounded at the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle and Peter sprung away from each other with the force of pure embarrassment as the door cracked open and Ned’s face appeared. He looked at Peter, and then at Michelle, and back again, before a smug grin grew across his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woke up and just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he said joyfully. “And you did! So that’s-- so great. Really just-- fantastic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter, old enough to legally drink and with the lying prowess of a third grader, had his brow furrowed and a hand pinched over his nose, flushed bright, tomato red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, Ned,” Michelle choked out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool, yeah, well,” Ned blabbered, clearly not trying very hard not to laugh. “I’m going to bed now, so, you can just-- get on with-- your nights. Together. In this room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, man,” Peter muttered as Ned cackled and shut the door on his way out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat of such repugnant awkwardness passed that Michelle thought she might die right there on the spot, but luckily Peter broke the silence, as he was wont to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I’m just gonna…” he motioned to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep, yeah, sounds good,” Michelle nodded, arms crossing over her chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that I don’t-- It’s just-- Ned will make our lives hell if I stay--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Totally, totally,” Michelle brushed him off. “You should get some sleep anyway because we’re gonna-- um-- you know, need your mechanical skills in the morning. For the-- thing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, absolutely,” Peter said, hand on the doorknob. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… goodnight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodnight!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door closed behind him and Michelle reeled, unable to move from where she was standing because too much was happening all at once and time travel was possible and Peter had kissed her and they were going to go back in time and Peter had kissed her and she might actually get her family back and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Peter had kissed her--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A quiet knock at the door brought her out of her spiral and she crossed the room to open it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter took her face in his hands gently and kissed her soundly, pulling away with those beaming eyes that left her feeling solid and shaky all at once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did it, Michelle Jones,” he said, awed and joyful, before kissing her forehead one last time and disappearing down the hallway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she got out of bed, really just a handful of hours later, all of the boys were already in Tony’s workshop, hunched over some sort of wristband device and bickering over efficiency of one conductor versus another. Michelle wasn’t really listening, more caught up in the sight of this, her life, built from rubble and trust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MJ, come settle an argument,” Ned said when he caught sight of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” she deadpanned. “But know my mediation rates have gone up since last time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a fucking vortex manipulator,” Peter said. “We made a fucking vortex manipulator from Doctor Who.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is your head gonna explode?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to come with us,” Michelle said later while Ned and Peter were outside loading up the car. “I understand you have a lot to lose and I never meant to diminish that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t,” Tony shook his head. “If I had lost Pepper or Rhodey or-- Hell, if I had lost Peter I would’ve been just as determined as you have been this whole time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still,” she said. “You’ve done enough, you don’t have to do the whole life-risking part.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do,” he responded, a touch of concession in his tone. “You know why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you were right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle grinned. “Can I get that in writing?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Tony chuckled, looking at her in contemplation. “You know, if your dad’s up to it when he gets back, I could use some parenting tips. I don’t know how he did this,” he motioned at her vaguely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lots of lessons about resilience,” Michelle said, melancholy opening up to show a hopeful interior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t wait to meet him,” Tony said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, he’s gonna hate you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were both laughing when Peter and Ned walked back inside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony drove them to the Compound with Ned in the front seat and Peter and Michelle very conspicuously not touching or looking at each other in the back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I appreciate you two refraining from making out in my car, but you will be washing the sheets in that guest room yourselves next time you’re at the lake house,” Tony deadpanned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle sunk lower in her seat as Peter screeched an accusatory, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ned!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry! He pulled it out of me!” Ned exclaimed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He told me immediately and without prompting this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna kill myself,” Michelle muttered into her palms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously, it’s like you guys are still teenagers,” Tony said. “Had to take a break from saving the world to insert all your romantic drama. Typical.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, I would do anything for you to stop,” Peter begged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony pretended to consider it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not worth it. Thanks though, kid!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle hadn’t been back to the Compound since that first time, when she and Ned were still searching for answers about what had happened to their best friend. It didn’t seem to have changed much in the following years, but her comfort level had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The intimidation factor was lower, maybe because she was older and maybe because she’d had more than one full scale debate with Tony Stark himself at that point, but even as hero after hero questioned who she was and what she had to do with their mission, she didn’t falter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, they had a plan to make and tech to build and a universe to save; there wasn’t spare time left to worry whether or not there was space for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d make it herself if there wasn’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For edification purposes, once all of the math and science has been completed, it takes approximately thirty-six hours to build a time machine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle found she couldn’t sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong was keeping her wide awake and, quite frankly, not doing her mental health any favors, so she got up, grabbed her sketchbook, and left the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her slippered feet found their way to that atrium where she had spent the last thirty-six hours watching and helping some of the greatest minds in the world build an actual, literal, real life time machine, and she sat down on the floor in front of it and began to draw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lines came easy to her, the shading made sense, and seeing it on paper somehow offered up a simpler reality with which to grapple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t startled when he sat down on the floor next to her, she assumed he hadn’t been sleeping either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feel like either way it’ll be worth documenting,” she said without looking up when she felt him peering over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s going to work,” Peter pressed his shoulder against hers, and Michelle had a passing flashback to a rooftop in Queens. French fries and onion rings. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t think so.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned to look at his face, the way the shadows of nighttime were cut through with the glow of emergency lights and the moon outside floor-to-ceiling windows in tandem. There was the not unfamiliar urge to draw him, then, to try and fail in capturing whatever it was about that face that made her breathing come easier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter studied her face with equal intensity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we gonna talk about it?” he murmured. “Before I leave in the morning?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle’s throat got suddenly tight with the flashes of possibility that went along with sending this boy into the past using barely-tested technology and straight into the middle of an alien invasion. She had so much she wanted to say to him, so much he needed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but in those quiet moments before it all began she didn’t think she could stomach it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How was she supposed to tell him that he made her heart beat out of time with the rest of the universe if there was a chance he wouldn’t make it home to her? Michelle may have grown up a lot in six years, but that was a level of vulnerability even her grown-up self didn’t want any part of. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll talk when you come back,” she said. “It’ll give you-- incentive.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not sure I need more of that than I already have, but your wish, Em,” he said with a short, dry kiss to her forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they pulled away from each other, Michelle kept her gaze downturned, studying the half-finished sketch in her lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should get some sleep,” she said, forced-nonchalance sliced through with emotion. “You’ve got a pretty big travel day tomorrow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter leaned his head onto her shoulder, took a deep breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In a minute.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle and Ned stood behind the control panel as everyone filtered into the atrium. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t think any of them had slept particularly well, which was more of an issue for the people taking longer than a five second journey this morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, everyone get together,” Peter said as he propped his camera up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Bruce asked, checking a couple of readings on a monitor nearby. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Documenting a literal historical event,” Peter said. “Come on, I’m gonna set the timer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a few minutes to pull everyone into one space, to drag the less reluctant of the group into standing still and taking part in this portrait, but eventually, Peter was clicking the shutter and exclaiming </span>
  <em>
    <span>ten seconds!</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he hopped into the frame next to Michelle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned was on her other side, beaming with nervous energy, a space raccoon stood in front of her, the Avengers surrounded them on all sides and Michelle didn’t know whether or not she was supposed to smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Five more seconds and she worried that this was going to be one of those </span>
  <em>
    <span>top ten pictures taken right before disaster</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it would be all her fault for pressing this so hard for so long. But then Peter wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple and she couldn’t really help the way her face looked after that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shutter clicked three times. There was nothing left to stall them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The whole group of them dematerialized right in front of her eyes and Michelle stopped breathing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One,” Ned started counting, the anxiety radiating off of him matching her own. “Two. Three.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, please, please,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michelle murmured under her breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Four,” Ned placed his hand over the lever. Michelle covered it with her own. “Five.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lever down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Click.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>God,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she finally exhaled at the sight of them-- battered and bruised and exhausted, but all there. All of them were there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned pulled her into a hug tight enough to lift her feet off the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy fuck, MJ, holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle just laughed, tears in her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everyone okay?” she called out as Ned set her down. “Who needs medical?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a wave of grumbling as people took stock of themselves and each other, making their way off the platform and back to solid ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One by one, the Stones appeared on the table in front of her. She felt a little hysterical. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, there’s that done.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter put on his Iron Spider suit when they were preparing for the snap and made Ned and Michelle stand behind him when Bruce put on the gauntlet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, as he was collapsing to the floor in insurmountable pain, Michelle wanted to call the whole thing off, wanted to apologize for ever having considered this plan, wanted to just give up right then and there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Bruce pushed through, and he stood tall, and he snapped his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing changed right away, no one appeared out of thin air because no one had </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappeared</span>
  </em>
  <span> in that room to begin with, so they stood in restless silence while they waited for a sign that it had worked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Guys,” Michelle began. “Did it--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world turned upside down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere in a collapsing Compound, Michelle’s phone started ringing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Colonel James Rhodes and a raccoon helped Michelle escape the rubble of the Compound, stumbling out into the open air as spaceships descended overhead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she groused, not even capable of proper surprise at this point. She wiped blood from where it was dripping down her forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, find somewhere to hide,” Rhodey told her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think maybe we’re past that, man,” she nodded to the flood of faceless aliens storming the fucking palace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Rhodey deadpanned. “Well. Don’t die, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You too,” she nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They ran in opposite directions. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna be able to convince you to run away as far as you can, am I?” Peter asked, mask dematerializing as he landed next to her behind what had probably been a support beam at one point. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Odds aren’t great,” she said, unable to hide the relief in her voice at seeing him. “You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Em,” he laughed drily. “I’m the one with superpowers.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rub it in why don’t you,” she joked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he groused, not even having the decency to laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I mean--” he was blustering. “I was supposed to come back with the Stones all heroic and help you save the fucking universe so then we could-- like, have a heartfelt conversation about that thing we’re supposed to talk about but looks like the universe always has other plans for us, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about this right </span>
  <em>
    <span>now?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michelle asked indignantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but am I not allowed to complain about how shitty this is?!” he exclaimed. “Is that a problem?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, no,” she took a step towards him, emotions running too high to stop her runaway frustration. “Fuck-- God, I’ll tell you what the problem is--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The problem is that I need you, Peter,” she said bluntly. “Actually, sincerely </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. I mean, one thing the apocalypse does is it makes you realize how little you actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>need.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clean water, something to eat, a warm coat in the cold months, sure, but most of the things we </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> we need we can actually find a way to live without. We’ve been doing it for years,” she laughed, too loud. “But, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter Parker, I really think losing you might be the thing that finally kills me and maybe that’s, like, unhealthy as shit, and maybe it’s just a side effect of the fact that I’m definitely falling in love with you, but I don’t care! I need you. I need you, and that’s all there is to it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t read Peter’s face, probably because she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to read Peter’s face, because the minute she read Peter’s oh, so readable face she would know how he felt about her little fucking declaration and she would have to live with that. No matter the outcome. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Em…” Peter began softly, too softly for where they stood, the blood in the dirt, the fire in the sky. “I--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shit!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Peter could process what was happening, Michelle had a piece of rebar the length of a baseball bat in hand and was shoving past him to pummel an alien directly in the side of the skull, knocking it motionless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck!” Peter flinched as he watched Michelle jump into battle, cursing up a storm as she got deeper into the fray. “Where the-- For fuck’s sake, Jones!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t die!” Michelle called over her shoulder and kicked an alien in the gut. Thank God for those self defense classes, huh? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle had been thinking about this moment, about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibility</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this moment, for years. But where she was now, fighting a sea of antagonists, watching the most powerful people in the universe get slapped aside by a literal Titan? None of it had ever been part of the plan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was horrific, the violence of it, the way she was enacting that violence, and even as she was hip deep in faceless aliens she was aware that if she managed to survive this she was going to need a boatload of therapy and she was going to make the Avengers pay for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle felt like she should probably be crying but couldn’t, even if she had tried to force it, because the fear and the adrenaline were holding back every bodily need that wasn’t directly related to fighting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dodged and ducked, kicked and used her makeshift weapon to whack and--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Duck!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle didn’t have to be told twice and immediately hit the deck just as a spear soared overhead and nailed the alien she’d been fighting in the chest. She looked over her shoulder and watched a woman, a warrior, rush past her and pull the spear out in one swift movement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” she muttered to herself through a gasping breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The warrior looked down at her and offered a hand. “Come. We are not finished,” she said in a fierce Wakandan accent as she pulled Michelle off the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Michelle just gaped at her in awe, all power and strength and resilience. “You’re incredible.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you are not a trained fighter,” she accused. “You will get yourself </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed</span>
  </em>
  <span> out here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, this is kinda a one time thing for me,” Michelle explained, unsteady on her feet. “But, you know, doing my best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The warrior released a heavy breath, a concession of sorts. “Your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Michelle.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am Okoye and you would do best not to wander off alone, Michelle,” she said, already jogging away. “Are you coming?” she called over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Michelle chased after her. And then, to herself. “Dope as hell.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Resilience had magic in her fingertips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle Jones had a pretty mean swing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The palms of Michelle’s hands were bleeding from clutching various pieces of rebar and rubble as defensive weapons for the past hour and she was coated in dirt and grime, and they weren’t any closer to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ending it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okoye had in fact been helping her stay alive but even the warrior seemed to be getting worn down by the relentlessness of the fight ahead of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Michelle was being separated from her protector by a horde of enemies on all sides and she wondered how long it would take for them to find her body if she was buried by those things and she was kicking, screaming, fighting even as she found herself being pulled off the ground and swung out of the center of the madness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop! Stop, it’s me!” Peter’s mask dematerialized and Michelle, still breathing heavily, stopped fighting and held on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, I--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Real fucked up of you to tell me you love me and then go running headlong into fucking battle, Jones!” he yelled over the wind whistling past them. “I gotta say, I’m super not okay with that. Dick move all around!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle clung to him because, well, because she had to for the sake of every part of the current situation. She truly had no other option. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the record, I said I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>falling</span>
  </em>
  <span> in love with you,” she corrected, directly into his ear. “There’s the potential but it’s not like, a fucking certainty--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh, I swear to </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> you are the most frustratingly pedantic person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!” Peter dropped them unceremoniously behind a tower of wreckage, away from the chaos as much as they could be while still being part of the chaos. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Falling in love--</span>
  </em>
  <span> Go fuck yourself-- You’re in love with me and I’m in love with you and you had to wait until right now, when we’re both in danger of getting skewered on a goddamn alien harpoon like a coupl’a Moby Dicks to bring it up!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle barely even flinched, frustration and adrenaline overwhelming anything else she could have felt in that moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am so sorry to offend your fragile sensibilities with my timing, Peter,” she tossed back with just as much fire. “But we kind of have bigger problems at the moment!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if to punctuate her point, some sort of missile or laser or-- well it was an explosive and it was big and it landed no less than thirty feet away making them both duck for cover behind their makeshift shelter. Michelle didn’t miss the way Peter threw and arm up as if to cover her from any potential shrapnel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, okay, fair enough,” Peter said, dropping his hand to her shoulder. “We’re gonna need those godforsaken Stones again, it’s the only way we’re winning this thing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If Bruce snaps a second time it’ll kill him,” Michelle implored. “Is anyone else even…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She trailed off, going inside her own head for a moment, putting scattered pieces from the last six years together. She hadn’t even known they were supposed to form a new picture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Em?” Peter ducked his head, quizzical eyes trying to meet hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle Jones lit up. “I think I have an idea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter looked at her and she knew that he loved her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle sprinted across an open stretch of battlefield. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony!” she called as she approached him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell are you still doing here?!” he asked, blasting an alien before it could tackle her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need one of your gauntlets and I need you to come with me and I need you to not be </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it,” she panted, hands on knees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The faceplate on Tony’s helmet retracted and he gave her a skeptical look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” she implored, trying to stand up as straight as her exhausted body allowed. “Just trust me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This another one of your guys’ plans?” he asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To be fair, it’s not my fault the last one ended up like this,” she motioned around her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony expelled a huff of breath and tapped a few times at his forearm. “Can’t believe I’m…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head at himself as the nanobots of the gauntlet encasing his left arm expanded enough for him to slip it off intact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you-- thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Michelle said as she took the gauntlet from him. “Just, like, don’t lose an arm or anything or I’ll feel really bad.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sent Tony to the part of the battlefield where Peter was already working on another aspect of their plan and then set about finishing her tasks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ned,” she slid behind a large chunk of rubble where he was hiding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MJ!” Ned immediately pulled her into a hug. “I thought-- You disappeared and I couldn’t find you and I was so worried--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, yes, we don’t have time,” she pulled away from him. “We have to get to the Eastern side of the Compound.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I do to help?” Ned dropped into problem solving mode. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you help me gather as many people as possible and bring them to Peter?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle waved her arms frantically above her head, trying to gain the attention of a woman she was pretty sure was some sort of god with the way she was glowing like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Captain Danvers!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, finally achieving her goal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carol flew towards her. “Can I help with something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Michelle tossed the gauntlet straight up and Carol caught it with ease. “You’re gonna need this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carol looked curious, but generally unshaken by a young woman she’d never met telling her what to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What for?” she asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle grinned with trepidation. “We’re gonna end this thing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter, with the added assistance of Thor and the Falcon, was jumping and flipping and quipping around Thanos, not doing much in terms of damage but acting as a truly impressive distraction and an even better nuisance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(When Michelle had mentioned this part of the plan he had told her he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was born for this.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ned had outdone himself in gathering more heroes in one place than Michelle thought possible, and she went to work in getting them in position out of Thanos’ eyeline, just behind a ridge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your motivations may be noble, but your cause is flawed,” Thanos said, briefly caught under Thor’s hammer and his gauntlet wielding-hand held behind his back by Peter’s straining webs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(In the end, Thanos would realize that this inconsequential moment was where it all went wrong for him. But for now, he remained confident.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thanos escaped from their hold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dude, shit,” Peter laughed hysterically, tiredly. “Pot, kettle.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They came to a standoff, Thanos facing his three current combatants while two armies shared blows in the distance and a few trusting comrades hid behind a ridge. Michelle poked her head up, made eye contact with Peter, and knew it was time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her people stepped up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your distractions will not work,” Thanos said loftily. “For I am inevitable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter retracted his mask and gave the Titan a smug, resentful sort of grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bitch, I’m from Queens,” he said. “And we didn’t come to play fair-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now, Captain!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thanos turned just in time to see Carol Danvers, gauntlet raised and shining with Ned holding onto one of her shoulders and Michelle her free hand. Each of them clung to a long chain of Avengers, ready to share the weight, the power, the strength, the soul of this final, desperate attempt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See ya,” Carol smirked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She snapped her fingers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle didn’t know what was supposed to happen next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The story always ended after Resilience won. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was extraordinarily lucky that the most intact part of the Compound included a good chunk of their medical facilities. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Doctor Strange had opened portals to help most of the Wakandan forces home to their own medics, shortly after Okoye tracked down Michelle and gifted her with a Wakandan shield. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the next time your people need you,” she had said and then disappeared before Michelle felt she could properly thank her. Perhaps one day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had two broken ribs and someone had stitched up a deep gash in her forehead that would definitely leave a scar and she was dialling and redialling with shaking, bandaged hands on a phone that belonged to someone whose name she couldn’t remember. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of it had felt quite real, she had been floating through the aftermath but the minute she had a moment to sit quietly it all started to hit her and her heart was racing and the call wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>going through--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goddammit,” she choked as she dialed once more and lifted the phone to her ear. She was seated on the floor in a hallway just outside the chaos of the medical center, back pressed up against the wall. “Please, please, please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank God-- I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Peter ran down the hall as soon as he spotted her, still in his suit but seeming to have been patched up the same as she had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she said, typing away at the phone again when she got another dial tone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter crouched down in front of her and pushed her hair out of her face, taking stock of her stitches and bruises and the rest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes big and concerned and a touch frantic. “They checked you out, right? Do you have a concussion from-- from this?” he ghosted a single finger over the wound, as if he was afraid of hurting her. As if he ever could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she said. “Is Ned-- Where did he--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Helping troubleshoot some tech issues in the medbay,” Peter assured her. “He’s perfectly fine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, good--” dial tone. “No, Christ, no, no,” she breathed through the tears that were threatening to fall but as she went to redial, Peter took the phone out of her hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MJ--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t get through-- the phone lines--” she blustered. “I can’t get ahold of either of them and the city is going to be in utter chaos right now…” she took a deep breath, trying desperately to center herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter nodded once. “Come with me,” he said, taking her hand and helping her off the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She followed him without question, letting the cool surface of his gloved hand pull her focus from the pulsing pain in her ribs or the anxiety thrumming in her ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took her to what were presumably the fallen remnants of a lab, where Tony and Bruce were stood arguing over a control panel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” Peter said as they entered the space, never letting go of Michelle’s hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, there you are,” Tony turned to look at them. “You both had a real medical professional take a look at you, right? I know you both have more first aid training than the average person, but you gotta let the actual doctors--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re all patched up,” Peter cut off his tirade, gently but certainly. “But I need to borrow your car.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Tony pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and chucked them across the room, directly into the center of Peter’s palm. “Pepper will be here tomorrow with the van anyway.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Peter said sincerely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of which,” Tony looked at Michelle expectantly. “She’ll want to talk to you about how much anonymity you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” she breathed in sharply through her nose. “Total anonymity, I think. If that’s-- possible.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With Pepper running the show anything’s possible,” Tony chuckled. “You sure? You kind of spearheaded this entire thing. You’re a hero, Miz Jones.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle thought about her life, about her motivations, about how selfish they had been and how selfish she knew they would continue to be. She knew herself well enough to know that she never would have busted her ass for this, never would have risked so much, if she hadn’t had skin in the game. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All I really want right now,” she said earnestly. “Is to go home.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tony nodded, something like pride in his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve earned it, lovebirds,” he said. “Get outta here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They did.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter drove because he was already healing by the time they left and Michelle was but a mere human who was definitely going to need to do more than sleep off her aches and pains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know where he’ll have gone,” she said, knee bouncing restlessly as they sped towards the city. She knew there would be insane traffic once they were closer, but for the moment the roads were wide open spaces, large enough to hold her bottled up adrenaline. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll find him,” Peter said certainly. “May can probably help us too, I bet they’ve been helping people get in touch with loved ones at the hospital like last time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, okay,” she took an unsteady breath and hummed a frustrated sound. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter pressed a hand into her knee across the console. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, breathe,” he squeezed her leg. “This is the easy part. We’re gonna figure it out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at him, trusted him in the driver’s seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Michelle said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took his hand and didn’t let go.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first time Michelle saw her father in six years was at none other than May Parker’s apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently Atticus had had the same instinct, that maybe she could help him find his family, so when Peter and Michelle walked in early that morning after driving through the night, she almost fell to her knees right then and there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad,” she gasped, the door hanging open behind her as she watched Atticus stand abruptly from his spot on the couch next to May. It looked like more than one Parker was on Jones-comfort duty that day. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pressed the palms of her hands into her abdomen, utterly overcome with the surreal gratitude of it all. Atticus looked concerned more than anything else. After all, it had been but a matter of hours for him, this journey, these six years of grief and work and grief-inspire work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Michelle,” he finally said, looking at her as though seeing her for the first time. She supposed he kind of was, with all she had changed. “I tried-- You were just gone and I couldn’t get ahold of you and May said--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” she walked forward finally, barely aware that May was dragging Peter to the kitchen to give them space. “I know, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened to you?” Atticus cradled her face gently in his calloused hands, tears in his eyes as he took her in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Michelle insisted through her own tears. “Just a few scrapes and bruises, I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he shook his head, chin wobbling. “I meant… You grew up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle laughed tearfully, ducking her head briefly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only on the outside,” she said. “Promise.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me something,” he said, leaning in. “Is that little Peter Parker standing all grown and protective over there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle glanced over her shoulder in time to see Peter conspicuously turn away and pretend like he couldn’t definitely hear everything they were saying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she blushed. “Six years and I still can’t seem to shake him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Atticus’s casual demeanor cracked and a sound like a held-back sob left his lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Six years,” he pulled her tight against his chest. “I’m so sorry, Michelle. I missed so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” she said, holding on tight, never letting go. “You’re home now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been thinking a lot about that story you used to tell me as a kid,” Michelle said later, curled up on the couch in her apartment with her head on her dad’s shoulder-- her </span>
  <em>
    <span>dad’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> shoulder. “The one about a hero named Resilience?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, a classic,” Atticus grinned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His brow furrowed. “What? What’s that face mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just-- Not to be a spoilsport or whatever but you got it wrong,” she said sheepishly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which part?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no way she could have done all of that stuff alone,” Michelle continued with insistence. “I mean, the amount of pressure she would’ve been carrying on her shoulders from that? She needed help-- she needed people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Atticus outright laughed at her and now Michelle was the one that was frowning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Darlin’ I think your age is showing,” he said with apparent amusement. “You’re forgetting some key elements to that story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No I’m not,” she defended. “What am I forgetting?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>help,” Atticus explained. “Boatloads of it, in fact.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that’s-- I would’ve…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A memory itched at the back of Michelle’s brain and she scrambled to dig for it, to grasp it in her fingers, to bury in her nails. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And Resilience asked Hope for his heart. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She asked Strength for her spine. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She asked Power and Gratitude and Compassion for their guts. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She asked Wisdom for their mind. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She asked Love for his hands. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh God you’re right,” Michelle said, stunned. “Can I ask a question though?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why was she the main character then? If it was always a whole team working together?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Atticus smiled at her, softer now, with a hint of pride. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because she’s the one that brought them all together.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Brown-paper package clutched to her chest, heart in her throat, and a new certainty in her gut, Michelle knocked on the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MJ?” Peter’s hair was rumpled and she could hear the coffee maker brewing in the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey there, Tiger,” she grinned. “Can I come in?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah-- Yeah, of course,” he stepped aside so she could move past the doorway. “I thought you’d be busy with family stuff, I would’ve-- do you want tea or something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No thanks, I’m good,” she said. “We tracked down Gayle and got her a rental car so she’ll be driving back over the next couple of days. My dad’s getting settled at my place in the meantime.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good,” he led her to the couch and they both sat down. “I’m really glad to hear that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, Peter,” she smiled down at her knees, gathered herself. “Um-- Well, this is for you,” she handed him that brown-paper package and he looked at her curiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got me a present?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t make me justify it and just open it please,” she chuckled awkwardly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did just as he was told, carefully unwrapping the package and lifting up a copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is Time Travel Possible and Other Impossible Questions.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The same copy they’d had for years, still with post-it notes sticking out and dog-eared pages and red-pen annotations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face cracked into a smile of recognition at the sight of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” he showed her the cover. “I think I’ve read this one.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just-- Inside, smartass,” she motioned to the book and he laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s face softened the moment the book was open and he realized what she had given him, her heart on her sleeve, on the inside cover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle’s heart raced as he began to read. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I never realized,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had said once in a bout of drunken grief, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I just thought they were books.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But she had never finished her thought, had never managed to piece it together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The truth was, she hadn’t always had the words to express it, but Michelle had always known that at its simplest form, love was a book with a handwritten message on the inside cover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tearful laugh erupted from Peter’s lungs. He traced her name with the gentle pad of his index finger, and then looked up to meet her gaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, me too,” he said, setting the book aside so he could adjust how he was sitting and face her head-on. “Me too. Always,” he cupped her jaw so his thumb was pressed against her temple, right beside her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eloquent,” she teased. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Em, I’m never gonna say anything as romantic as what you just wrote, and we’re both just gonna have to live with that reality.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned her head just enough to kiss his palm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said agreeably. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he reiterated, pulling her closer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she murmured against his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe the universe didn’t have a personal vendetta against them after all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was still so much left to do, so much left to rebuild. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle had to get to know her father, her sister, two people who had once known her inside and out and now were unfamiliar with how she’d changed and grown. She was brand new, she was an adult, she had been raised by people they had never met. Her womanhood was colored by anger and strength and resilience. Her life without them had always, still, been about them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all adjustment, just as it had been the first time, simply in the other direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where before the difficulties were unbearable, barely survivable because of the utter hopelessness encroaching on humanity, now the bumps in the road felt manageable. They could handle anything that came their way, because they lived to see the other side of death itself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Someone wanna explain why I’ve got delinquents on my fire escape when they’re all adults with their own places to live?” May poked her head out the window to look at the three of them, legs all on top of each other where they sat sprawled out across the small space, sharing a joint. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My family is staying at my tiny studio,” Michelle said. “Very cramped.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cockroaches,” Peter exhaled a cloud. “Apparently there was a pre-snap infestation, so it turns out cockroaches </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> survive the apocalypse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Betty hates weed,” Ned shrugged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>May laughed at them, sitting on the windowsill and pulling a leg up to get comfortable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I guess I have to be honored,” she said. “The saviors of the universe, getting high at my place.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Saviors,” Michelle snorted, giggly as the high started to set in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s right,” Peter said seriously. “MJ was really the only savior. We were just the sidekicks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Savior of the Universe, Michelle Jones and her science boys,” Ned nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MJ and the Science Boys should be our band name,” Peter suggested. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate both of you,” Michelle said with a grin on her face. Peter pressed a long kiss to her cheek, smiling all the while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gross, guys,” Ned complained. “I’m gonna be a third wheel all the time now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We invited Betty!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She doesn’t like </span>
  <em>
    <span>weed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” May said through her laughter. “Don’t get too high and fall over the rail.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A chorus of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks May! </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love you May!</span>
  </em>
  <span> followed her back into the apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Michelle leaned into Peter and he wrapped an arm around her as she looked down and watched her people, reacclimating to a world, newly whole. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None of them will ever know,” Ned said. “Isn’t that a little crazy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They know most of it,” Peter said, pressing his face into Michelle’s hair indulgently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not about us,” Ned explained himself. “Not about why we did it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna write a book about it, I think,” Michelle said quietly. “Lock it away so it can’t be published until after I die.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After you die?” Peter gaped. “No. Vetoing that idea right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, you want to deal with the press after this story comes out?” Michelle chuckled at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want people to be able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span> before you’re dead,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a compromise to be had here, guys,” Ned chimed in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They considered it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Post-retirement release?” Peter suggested. “All three of us can watch the world lose their minds over it from a porch swing by a lake somewhere?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Michelle?” Ned looked at her expectantly. She sighed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess I can live with that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then so it shall be!” Ned declared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To our current anonymity and future fame,” Peter raised the joint above their heads. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, here,” Michelle nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To quantum fucking physics,” Ned added. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, </span>
  <em>
    <span>here,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both looked at her and she wondered how much love it took for the human body to start overflowing. She wasn’t a biologist, but she thought she must have surpassed the allotted number years ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Life as they knew it was changing, not for the first time and not for the last, but Michelle knew that these boys, her boys, would see her through it all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She beamed, bright as the sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“When I was a little girl, my dad told me a story about a woman named Resilience. I would run around our tiny Queens apartment, pretending to do all the things that she could do, hoping that one day I could become her. Perhaps it took me longer than it should have to understand the point of his story, to understand what he was trying to instill in me, but I think I get it now. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think she was always us, the girls with too-big, too-full, too-tough hearts, just trying to make it through the day without breaking them. I think she was always a testament to unashamed intelligence and unrestrained compassion.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think she was always me.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Excerpt, “2,271 Days” by Michelle Jones</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, thoughts and feelings are appreciated. Thanks for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I would appreciate it greatly if you wanted to let me know your thoughts and/ or feelings &lt;3</p><p>Part two will be up by the end of the week!</p><p>You can find me on tumblr @ premiere-pro</p></blockquote></div></div>
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